i 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE     AGE; 

A 

C0ll0piiil  Satire. 


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THE     AGE; 


COLLOQUIAL  SATIRE. 


BY 

PHILIP  JAMES  BAILEY. 

AUTIIOK  OF   "  FESTII8." 


BOSTON: 
TICK NOR     AND     FIELDS 

MDCCC  LVIII. 


author's  edition. 


A  7:? 


THE     AGE; 

%  di^llopiiU  Satire. 


Interlocutors : — Critic,  young  Author,  and  mutual  Friend. 
Scene — Town;  an  Editor's  Eoom. 


AUTHOR. 

Here  are  you  two,  no  doubt  in  deep  debate, 
And  close  confab,  upon  affairs  of  state. 

FRIEND, 

By  no  means. 

AUTHOR. 

You  are  busy  ? 

CRITIC. 

Pray,  sit  down 
Two  hours  for  chat,  still. 

AUTHOR. 

Then,  you  are  leaving  town  ? 


623333 


THE   AGK ; 


N  FRIEND. 

I  homewards,  too.     We  "  rail "  together 
Part  of  the  way,  at  least. 

AUTHOR. 

This  brilliant  weather 
Raises  anticipations  in  my  mind 
Of  country  joys  delicious  in  their  kind. 

CRITIC. 

There's  nothing  like  it  for  one's  health,  I  find. 

Unconquered  Kent !  I  come  to  thee  again — 

Famous  for  cherries,  apples,  hops,  strong  men, 

And  pretty  girls,  and  every  thing  that's  good, 

And  the  Martello  Towers,  and  underwood, 

And  Roman  roads,  and  cricket ;  Shakspeare's  Cliff, 

And  many  other  things,  I  dare  say,  if 

1  knew  them,  but  I  don't ;  and  so,  it  ends. 

With — famous  for  good  dinners  and  good  friends. 

AUTHOR. 

God  speed  you  both.     I  fear  I've  cut  the  thread. 
Like  Atropos,  of  your  discoursing,  dead. 


A  SATIRE. 

CRITIC. 

No.     We  were  merely  skimming  o'er  the  topics 

Which  fill  men's  mouths  from  England  to  the  tropics, 

And  raise  their  wrath  from  Polar  e'en  to  Torrid  zone — 

From  Arctic  to  Antarctic  (still  more  horrid  zone) 

Much  as  the  flying  fish  pursues  his  way 

On  wing  and  fin,  up  and  down,  night  and  day, 

In  desultory  movement. 


That's  to  say 
From  actions  seeking  motives  we  must  tend 
Backwards;  and  forwards,  if  we  seek  an  end. 


But  what's  this  scroll? 

AUTHOR. 

We'll  speak  ahout  it  afterwards — 
As  soon  as  I  perceive  your  thoughts  turn  laughterwards. 
One  hour  ago,  I  passed  the  great  Leviathan — 
That  monstrous  httle  craft,  whose  hull  is  higher  than 
The  masts  of  most  ships,  looming  'mid  the  fogs, 
Like  a  huge  kennel  for  the  Isle  of  Dogs ; 
And  my  thoughts  darted,  lightlike,  o'er  the  seas 
To  India  and  her  mutinous  Sipahis — 


^  »  THE  AGE; 

That  tyrant  thought,  which  robs  the  land  of  ease, 
And  duly  proves — for  all  we  there  have  been — 
There's  nothing  certain  but  the  unforeseen. 

CKITIC. 

That  is  the  question  which  has  superseded, 
Justly,  all  others,  howsoe'er  they  needed 
Discussion :  church  rates,  ballot,  and  reform, 
All  veil  their  heads  before  the  eastern  storm. 
And  truly,  as  regards  domestic  policy, 
Chiefly  reform,  I  think  we  all  the  folly  see. 
Of  hurrying  on  a  constitutional  question, 
Wliich  might  endanger  old  Squire  Bull's  digestion. 

FKIEND. 

He's  somewhat  apoplectic ;  and  we  are  undone 
If  all  the  country  blood  should  fly  to  London, 

CRITIC. 

Whatever  luck  he  had,  or  fortune  missed. 

There's  no  man  happy  like  the  egotist ; 

On  what  Bull  deems  his  rights  Bull  will  insist. 

FBIEKD. 

Rather  thickheaded  sometimes  as  a  nation. 
But  then  his  roar  beats  all  bulls  out  of  Bashan. 


A  SATIRE. 

AUTHOR. 

Then  there's  the  Ballot. 


Ballot  has  its  partizans, 
The  favourite  makeshift  of  some  timid  artisans, 
Who  form,  although  a  most  important  class, 
One  only  segment  of  the  social  mass ; 
Wherein  is  seen,  in  all  its  odd  variety. 
That  pudding-stone  formation  called  Society. 
Beside  the  Crown,  the  peers,  and  cleric  hierarchy. 
Law,  army,  navy,  physic,  state  and  squirearchy, 
Fundholders,  landowners,  farmers,  bankers,  millocrats, 
Officials,  manufacturers,  merchants,  tillocratS, 
Called  frequently  by  Chartists  the  shopocracy — 
Most  numerous  of  all  ranks  in  our  Democracy : 
And  numbering  many  good  and  thoughtful  men. 
Illustrious  for  plain  dealing,  now  and  then ; 
Clerks  and  assistants,  labourers  of  every  kind, — 
Must  have  their  rightful  interests  borne  in  mind. 
Not  all  these  ranks  have  votes,  but  all  dispense 
A  broadly  graduated  influence ; 
And  each,  a  petty  despot  in  its  way, 
Striving  to  rule  the  whole,  must  yet  obey 
The  general  weal ;  consulting  for  the  best 
The  will  of  others — workmen  with  the  rest ; 


6  THE  AGE; 

"Well  worthy  every  privilege  but  one, 

Which  Englishmen  have  granted  yet  to  none^ 

To  class,  nor  chque,  nor  king,  nor  kingly  minion- 

The  privilege  to  quash  free-spoke  opinion. 

So  England's  liberties,  already  got 

By  open  vote,  we  will  to  change  it  not. 


Peers  and  electors  are  the  two  great  powers 
And  legal  ultimates  in  this  land  of  ours ; 
The  high  contracting  parties  of  the  state, 
Wlio  balance  and  direct  each  other's  weight : 
All  others  may  accountable  be  shown 
Truly  to  these, — these,  legally,  to  none. 
But,  morally  responsible ;  due  note 
Is  taken  by  the  nation  of  eacli  vote ; 
And  justly,  therefore,  in  the  general  sight, 
A  vote's  a  privileged  trust,  and  not  a  right, 
Common  to  every  unconvicted  wight. 
Were  manhood-suffrage  law,  the  mass  of  men 
Outside  the  franchise  now,  would  outvote  then, 
All  other  ranks,  one  thousand  just  to  ten : 
Whereby  the  opinions  of  all  men  beside 
In  favour  of  one  class  were  nullified ; 
Make  but  that  suffrage  secret,  and  it  would  be 
Society  upturned,  as  far  as  could  be. 


A   SATIRE. 

"Were  this  so,  those  reformers  of  our  day, 

"Who  favour  secretly  tyrannic  sway, 

And  hold,  with  C,  that  for  all  social  schism 

The  cure  is  a  good  gi-inding  despotism, 

And  that  some  all  o'erbearing  will  must  be  a — 

For  all  diseases  politic — panacea. 

Are  right.    In  my  view,  though  not  worth  defending, 

The  vote  wants  raising  rather  than  extending. 

CEITIC. 

There  never  was  a  Democratic  state 
But  lost  its  ill-used  freedom  soon  or  late, 
"Whose  scope  is  more  and  more  to  give  dominion 
To  blind  eyes,  rude  heads,  and  unripe  opinion. 

FRIEND. 

In  politics,  as  in  the  reasoning  art, 
Conclusions  follow  e'er  the  weakest  part. 

CRITIC. 

Were  men  resolved,  or  worthy  to  be  free, 
"What's  to  prevent  them?  Why  should  Britain  be 
The  world's  one  instance  of  just  liberty  ? 

AUTHOR. 

However  free  the  world  may  find  us  here, 
However  just  or  liberal  we  appear, 


8  THE  AGE; 

Whatever  hate  to  tyrants  we  have  shown, 

Abroad,  we  are  the  greatest  tyrants  known. 

The  pohcy  of  England  is,  abroad, 

What  best  might  suit  a  brigand  race  outlawed, — 

As  void  of  every  sentiment  of  right ; 

'Twere  just  as  if  a  friend  should  you  invite 

Into  his  house,  and  you,  when  once  you  put  in  it 

Your  nose,  admit  no  thought  but  that  of  gutting  it, 

Stealing  and  slaughtering  all  he  prizes  most, 

And  end  by  turning  out  of  doors  your  host. 

In  this  way  have  we  pi'actised  in  the  East, 

Our  subject  states  extended  and  increased ; 

Then,  having  seized  their  total  territory. 

Our  saintly  virtues  and  our  martial  glory 

We  make  much  boast  of,  and  to  all  our  neighbours, 

Parade  our  pure,  commercial.  Christian  labours, 

The  truth  is,  as  a  nation  we're  unjust. 

Despotic,  faithless,  greedy,  cursed  with  lust 

Polygamous  of  all  conterminous  lands ; 

Had,  more  than's  safe,  desire  still  more  demands ; 

We,  just  to  keep  our  appetite  supplied. 

Annex  a  state,  as  Blue  Beard  Hal,  a  bride. 

Whether  we  war  with  Kaffirs  or  Birmese, 

Or  thrust  our  poisonous  stuff  down  throats  Chinese, 

Those  nude  barbarians,  silk-clad  warriors  these. 

Or  moan  for  vengeance  on  our  bended  knees 


A  SATIRE. 

With  unctuous  hypocrisy,  the  times 
Are  branded  black  and  deep  with  Britain's  crimes. 
True  'tis,  we  have  suffered  deadly  torts  and  wrongs, 
But  that's  the  sequence  which  to  sin  belongs. 
We  have  no  more  right  to  claim  retahation 
Than  thief,  from  judge  condemnmg,  expiation  : 
Our  own  wrong-doing  forms  our  condemnation. 
But  we,  as  murderous  robbers' in  the  first  place, 
Must  next  proceed  to  sanctify  the  accurst  place ; 
And  priests  and  prelates  bellicose  the  realm 
Parade,  contending  who  shall  most  o'er  whelm 
With  anti-christian  wratli  the  land  we've  seized, 
And  proved,  with  our  injustice,  Heaven  displeased. 
This  Burke  the  righteous  prophet  once  declared. 
Though  time,  the  tlu-eat  reserved,  the  sinner  spared. 
While  servile  nations  tarred  with  kindred  sins 
To  England  point, — "  with  her  aU  ill  begins." 
Can  we  of  Austrian  tyi'anny  complain  ? 
The  tender  mercies  of  Cayenne  disdain  ? 
Or  Freedom,  fettered  hand  and  foot  in  Spain  ? 
Can  we,  who  once  a  good  example  gave. 
Taunt  Uncle  Sam  with  Uncle  Tom,  his  slave  ? 
Let  Russia  act  towards  each  repugnant  tribe 
Worse  than  her  paid  official  dares  describe. 
Our  tongue  is  tied  :  no  right  have  we  to  gibe. 


10  THE   AGE; 

Let  Naples'  king  now  point  liis  bitter  joke, 
The  Italian's  easier  than  the  British  yoke : 
Ireland,  he  says,  was  England's  India  first ; 
Her  second  L'eland,  Ind ;  the  last  the  worst. 

CRITIC. 

The  views,  no  doubt,  of  B.,  and  C,  and  others 

(Dear  friends),  you  speak ;  but  outraged  nature  smothers, 

Indignant,  all  such  plainly  futile  pleas, 

In  face  of  massacres  and  mutinies, — 

What  are  Algerian  horrors  weighed  with  these  ? 

No  race  on  earth  can  make  a  clean  confession 

Of  a  pure,  legal,  peaceable  possession. 

Originally,  of  the  lands  they  claim ; 

But  all  by  force  or  fraudful  inroad  came 

Into  the  place  they  occupy  ;  at  least 

All  but  the  savage  islands  of  the  East. 

Duke  William's  conquest  of  the  treacherous  Saxon 

Could  never  lay  my  sympathies  a  tax  on. 

Who  on  the  wronger  just  those  wrongs  inflicted 

The  outraged  Briton's  seer  had  long  predicted  : 

Rightly  or  wrongly  thus  we  are  lords  of  Ind. 

Tliat  we  have  both  done  righteously  and  sinned 

Under  that  head,  I  grant;  and,  for  that  matter, 

I  should  not  be  surprised  if  most  the  latter. 


A   SATIRE.  11 

Be  this  true,  howe'er  -WTongfiilly  obtained, 
More  rightfully  the  domination  gained 
We  have  administered,  than  India's  seen 
Since  Sandrakottus  or  the  Assyrian  queen ; 
And  to  the  million  "  who  rules,"  matters  less 
Than  "  how  ruled,"  as  regards  their  happiness. 

■  • 

AUTHOR. 

Rights  are  not  based  on  such  considerations ; 
And  of  their  rights  we,  wrongful,  rob  these  nations. 
Our  sway,  if  now  imperilled,  may  we  learn 
On  grace  to  found,  and  from  injustice  turn : 
Acts,  motives,  ends,  the  Just  One  will  discern. 
And  if  we've  robbed  a  man  of  all  he  owns. 
House,  dress,  skhi,  carcass,  let  him  pick  his  bones. 

CRITIC. 

'Tis  true  we  shall  regain  it,  and  right  soon, 

As  that  the  sim  holds  high  and  endless  noon. 

Mankind  expects  it  of  us  ;  'tis  our  place 

To  vindicate  our  own  superior  race  : 

The  world  succumbs  before  the  white  man's  face. 

FRIEND. 

Certes, — but  that  sounds  odd.     When  our  forbears 
Dwelt  naked  in  dank  caves  and  leaf-strewn  lairs, 


12  THE  AGE; 

Stained  blue  with  woad,  and  raddled  with  red  clay, 

(Which  royal  hveries  even  now  display,) 

On  either  breast  the  orbs  of  night  and  day ; 

When  lions  and  hyenas  roamed  our  land, 

And  mammoths  stalked  along  the  reedy  Strand — 


Where  greater  brutes  (the  critics)  now  command — 


This  ancient  people  whom  we  so  contemn 

As  our  inferiors  (we  have  mastered  them), 

Lived  rich  in  science,  art,  religion,  song : 

Could  boast  of  varied  lore,  and  empire  strong. 

And  truths  we've  not  ourselves  attained  to  long  : 

Knew  the  precise  position  of  the  sun 

In  utter  space  ere  Britain's  name  feegun : 

Marked  by  precession  of  the  equinoxes, 

Three  thousand  years  ere  those  first  Christmas  boxes 

Were  brought  to  Bethlehem  by  their  kindred  Magi ; 

Or  Tityrus  warbled  'neath  his  "  tegmenfagi" 

CRITIC. 

In  some  things  each  of  oppositcs  is  best ; 
Light's  from  the  east  and  motion  from  the  west ; 
To  both  we  owe  some  pleasures  'tis  confessed  ; — 
Tactics  and  gunpowder  explain  tlie  rest. 


A  SATIRE.  13 

FRIEND. 

Still,  I  am  one  to  whom  Old  England's  glorious 

At  all  times ;  most  of  all  when  she's  victorious. 

One  moment  checked,  the  volume  of  her  force 

Enlarges,  river-like,  by  length  of  course. 

That  changeless  charm, — my  country's  only  dower, 

Of  pure  success,  and  ever  greatening  power, 

Hallows  her  cause ;  to  me  her  flag  endears, 

Tliough  sometimes  stained  with  blood,  and  sometimes  steeped 

in  tears. 
Where,  like  to  her,  another  will  you  find. 
Next,  under  Heaven,  great  blesser  of  mankind  ? 
If  to  Judoea'we'  our  worship  trace  ; 
If  our  best  learning  to  Achaia's  race  ; 
If  Europe  owes  to  Rome  her  noblest  laws ; 
The  freedom  of  mankind  is  England's  cause. 
To  law,  to  learning,  to  religion,  she 
Add's  Heaven's  own  element  of  liberty. 
She  first  refused  with  slavery  to  defile 
Her  shores  ;  and  God  looked  down  and  blessed  the  isle, 
Saying  "  For  this  cause,  England,  go  thou  forth. 
Thy  fleets,  thy  hosts,  thy  peoples,  round  the  earth ; 
In\^ncible  thy  banners  as  thy  worth ; 
To  lands  less  blessed  unfold  fair  Freedom's  channs ; 
Fear  not  the  snares  of  peace,  nor  war's  alarms. 
And  leave  to  Heaven  the  issue  of  thine  arms." 


14  THE   AGE; 

AUTHOR. 

If  e'er  the  world  should  be  to  freedom  won, 

'Twill  be  by  doing  just  as  England's  done ; 

Prudence  most  lies  in  being  wise  to  shun  ; 

Patient  and  steady,  not  too  quickly  wise ; 

(Wisdom  is  never  won  by  a  surprise). 

Earning  by  slow  degrees  just  liberties. 

The  paper  constitutions  Bentham  drew, 

And  Canning  backed,  were  never  met  when  due. 

The  boasted  balance  which  our  statesman  made, 

The  western  evil  'gainst  the  east  arrayed, 

And  anarchy  'gainst  despotism  weighed. 

Cursed  with  the  independence  they  desired, 

"With  love  of  lawlessness  alone  inspired. 

Those  states  still  fight  themselves,  and  will,  till  tired,- 

Till  proud,  at  last,  they  prove  to  lie  or  crawl 

About  the  feet  of  power  imperial. 

The  radicals  of  modern  revolutions 

Reverse  the  ox'der  of  our  institutions, 

And  of  the  way  we  got  them.     In  our  isle 

'Tis  popular  power  which  crowns  the  social  pile ; 

The  base  is  monarchy.     Now,  they  commence 

With  wild  democracy,  a  sad  offence 

Against  the  very  name  of  common  sense ; 

And  thus,  instead  of  hewing  out  of  rock. 

Their  deep  foundations,  proof  against  all  shock — 

Begin  by  gilding  first  their  weathercock. 


A  SATIRE.  15 

FRIEND. 

But  even  now  in  England  may  be  found 

A  tyranny  that's  greatly  gaining  ground  ; 

Though  less  upon  the  ladder's  lowest  round 

Than  on  the  upper ;  the  mid-classes  most. 

From  filling,  first,  a  very  humble  post, 

The  Typocrat  now  rules  from  coast  to  coast ; 

Who,  rattling  off  a  leader  while  you  are  winking. 

Has  almost  stifled  independent  thinking. 

As  people'  pray  in  Tartary  by  machines, 

So  here  by  dailys,  weeklys,  magazines. 

Each  turns  his  wordy  mill,  which  nothing  means  ; 

So  deftly  now  the  Press,  of  scribbling  power, 

Inflates  the  favourite  folly  of  the  hour  ; 

Some  grand  delusion  happily  long  covert, 

But  ripe  at  last  for  sale  in  market  overt ; 

That  when  its  influence  seems  most  comprehensive, 

Its  worthlessness  but  shows  the  more  extensive. 

And  this  because  its  prosperousness  depends 

Not  on  its  speaking  truth,  but  making  friends, 

Sway  o'er  weal^  minds,  and  gain,  its  only  ends. 

Has  ever  one,  when  war-tide  was  at  flood. 

Called  to  the  people — "  Hold,  friends  !   it  were  good. 

Ere  we  commit  our  hands  to  blows  or  blood. 

To  scan  those  maxims  which  in  cooler  hours 

We  have  maintained  as  Christians  must  be  ours. 

And  conscience  may  admit  as  motive  powers  ?  " 


16  THE  AGE; 

Soon  as  the  scent  of  blood  first  taints  the  air, 

The  sleuth  hounds  of  the  Press  at  once  are  there. 

All  philanthropic  cant  is  cast  away  ; 

To  rouse  ill  passions  is  to  make  them  pay. 

With  polished  pens  and  learning  at  command, 

Although  their  reasoning  rarely  could  withstand 

A  Sunday  scholar's  logic  in  the  land. 

Yet  types  the  Press  the  body  of  the  nation  : 

That  is,  the  minds  of  mediocre  station ; 

Nor  e'er  in  wit,  nor  e'en  in  wish  surpasses 

The  "  Bedford  level"  of  the  middle  classes. 


Men  like  a  glass  which  faithfully  reflects 
Such  faults  as  even  vanity  detects. 
There's  nought  we  flatter  more  than  our  defects. 
So  bigotry,  presumption,  vengeance,  crimes, 
We  load  at  Church  with  dreadful  synonymes. 
Are  looked  on  with  complacence  in  the  *  Times ; ' 
Who  tells  the  million  for  their  ghostly  good, 

How  christian  Britons  "  thirst  for  Nana's  blood." 

-• 

So  Reverend  Sirs,  who  every  Sunday  say, 

"  My  brethren,  bless  your  foes  and  for  them  pray," 

Discuss,  on  Saturday,  in  full-length  column, 

Large-typed  and  leaded,  with  effect  right  solemn, 

The  more  ingenuous  and  recondite  arts 

Of  butchering  nations,  wholesale,  or  in  parts. 


A  SATIRE.  17 

CRITIC. 

In  fallacy  and  folly  nought  surpasses 

The  dubious  judgments  formed  of  men  by  classes ; 

But  then  the  Christian  is  a  pure  ideal ; 

Men  in  the  Daily  Press  see  men  as  real. 

FRIEND. 

And  is't  for  this  that  thirteen  thousand  parishes, 
Urban  and  rural,  spread  o'er  hills,  coasts,  marishes, 
Have  each  their  pastor,  so  to  inculcate, 
Not  how  much  to  forgive,  but  how  much  hate  ? 
If  so,  how,  therefore,  differ  we  from  heathen  ? 
Let  christian  pastors  pastors  christian  be,  then  ; 
Nor  seek  to  inflame  the  passions  of  a  land. 
Both  'gainst  the  letter,  as  all  understand, 
And  spirit  of  their  Master's  great  command. 

AUTHOR.  '*' 

Sons  of  the  sword  !  indulge  your  sacred  ire  ; 

Such  vengeance  wreak  as  justice  may  require. 

Sternly  your  fatal  duty  execute, 

Whether  to  spear,  to  sabre,  or  to  shoot; 

But  be  those  lips,  whence  grace  and  mercy,  mute. 

FRIEND. 

Of  all  conceits  mis-grafted  on  God's  "Word, 
A  christian  soldier  seems  the  most  absurd. 
2 


13  THE  AGE; 

That  Word  commands  us  so  to  act  in  all  things, 

As  not  to  hurt  another  e'en  in  small  things. 

To  flee  from  anger,  hatred,  bloodshed,  strife  ; 

To  pray  for,  and  to  care  for  others'  life. 

A  christian  soldier's  duty  is  to  slay, 

Wound,  harass,  slaughter,  hack  in  every  way 

These  men  whose  souls  he  prays  for  night  and  day ; 

With  what  consistency  let  prelates  say. 

He's  told  to  love  his  enemies ;  don't  scoff ; 

He  does  so  ;  and  with  rifles  picks  them  off. 

He's  told  to  do  to  all  as  he'd  be  done 

By,  and  he  therefore  blows  them  from  a  gun  ; 

To  bless  his  foes,  he  "  hangs  them  up  like  fun." 

Such  inconsistencies  will  men  pretend ; 

Such  blasphemous  apostasies  defend, 

To  slake  a  passion  or  to  serve  an  end. 

A  soldier  is  a  patriot :  draws  his  sword 

With  right,  with  law,  with  honour  in  accord  ; 

Fights  down  his  foemen  as  a  brave  man  should, 

And,  if  a  baptist,  dips  them  deep  in  blood  ; 

But  scarce  pretends  he  does  it  for  their  good. 

For  law  and  honour,  far  from  Christianity, 

Are  rather  proof  of  error,  sin,  and  vanity. 

Because  a  sin  or  error  may  be  national. 

It's  not  on  that  account  a  whit  more  rational, 


A  SATIRE.  19 

Not  to  be  tolerated,  nor  excusable  ; 
Nor  such  an  argument  are  we  to.  use  able, 
That  pride  or  power  prefers  a  course,  if  sinful ; 
Of  every  vice  be  sure  we  have  a  skinful. 
But  we  disguise  the  beverage  as  we  please, 
And  virtue,  say,  has  various  aliases. 
Our  meannesses  by  lofty  names  we  dignify, 
As  Jove  and  Juno  may  twin  puppies  signify  ; 
And  men  condemn  each  other  for  the  quality 
They  pride  themselves  the  most  on  in  reality. 
Our  sin  we  think  lies  not  so  much  in  this, 
As  in  conceding  we  do  aught  amiss. 

CEITIC. 

Whoe'er  has  marked  how  questions  ope  and  close 

In  certain  seasons,  cowslip-Uke  or  rose. 

Knows  nothing  so  annoys  the  weak  as  power. 

When  the  '  Times '  thunders  the  whole  press  turns  sour, 

Retorts,  resists,  perhaps  strives  to  refute ; 

But  they've  their  own  luck,  and  their  friend's  to  boot. 

And,  nolens  volens,  each  must  follow  suit. 

AurnoK. 
An  editorial  quid-nunc  I  once  knew — 
A  deputy-sub-editor,  like  you  ; 
A  most  superior  man  in  his  own  view  ; 
Quite  competent  to  rule  a  state  or  two  ; — 


20  THE  AGE; 

(His  eye  was  always  turned  on  you  intrusively, 
An  air  acquired,  to  speak  of  it  amusively, 
By  looking  into  millstones  too  exclusively — ) 
Told  me  a  secret,  a  secret  I  shall  not  disclose, 
As  to  who  leads  all  England  by  the  nose. 

CEITIC. 

Pray  don't.     The  high  arcana  of  our  craft 
Are  not  to  be  exploded  fore  and  aft. 

AUTHOR. 

But  it's  a  consolation  still,  to  know, 

The  fact's  recorded,  and,  not  long  ago ; 

That,  as  the  sun  stands  not  in  debt  to  tapers, 

Our  late  First  Lord  perused  no  daily  papers  ; 

He  was  not  of  the  herd  that  lives  on  leaders, 

Whioh  class,  says  brave  Sir  Colin,  are  "  foul  feeders." 

FRIEND. 

Peers,  as  a  class,  perhaps  breathe  freer  air ; 
And  a  few  sage  old  hawbucks,  here  and  there, 
lirofessors,  parsons,  magistrates,  and  men 
Wlio  can  think,  and  will  reason  now  and  then  ; 
Whose  souls  unmuddled  by  commanding  views 
Conceived  by  Septuagenarian  Blues, 
Reap  rich  contentment  fi'om  their  county  news. 


A   SATIRE.  21 


There's  our  Society,  you  have  heard  me  say, 
Formed  five-and-twenty  years  ago  this  day ; 
We  have  our  articles. 

CKITIC. 

Rehearse  them,  pray. 

FRIEND. 

We  framed  them  when  quite  green ;  we  keep  them  gray. 

CRITIC. 

I'm  quite  prepared  for  that.     We  all  are  seen 

From  youth  to  age  in  different  suits  of  green. 

There  is  our  fine  old  tar,  we  often  meet, 

Who  every  year  so  dreads  the  French  will  gobble  us, 

And  says,  "  I  only  ask  you  for  a  Fleet," 

Like  Belisarius  begging  for  an  obolus, — 

"  Five  millions  down,  armed  men,  and  spirits  neat ; " 

If  he  expects  it,  well  he's  rather  sea-green ; 

There's  Yeh,  and  mild  Sir  John,  both  now  quite  tea-green ; 

FRIEND. 

And  there's  yourself;  you,  certainly,  are  pea-gi-een. 

AUTHOR. 

An  eminent  cats'-meat-monger  in  my  neighbourhood, 
Who  lives  a  hfe  of  most  melodious  labourhood, 


22  THE  AGE; 

And  cultivates  the  acquaintance  of  the  mews 
On  a  more  stable  footing  than  I  use ; 
Informs  me,  as  the  most  authentic  news, 
That,  in  the  city,  the  impression's  strong 
We  shall  be  all  invaded  before  long ; 
And,  under  cover  of  some  two  hours'  fogs, 
A  French  fleet  will  send  England  to  the  dogs. 

FEIEND. 

"Wliat  will  be  shall  be,  but  it  seems  a  game 

Two  well  can  play  at ;  we'll  serve  them  the  same. 

Still,  one  is  half  ashamed  to  see  a  nation 

So  smit  with  periodic  palpitation. 

And  yelling  out  its  fears  of  an  invasion 

From  friends  whose  honour  late  we  placed  at  high  rates, 

But  whom  we  speak  of  now  as  worse  than  pirates. 

When  there  was  danger  once  we  showed  no  fear. 

And  now  there's  none,  what  oaves  we  must  appear. 

I'd  rather  say,  "  As  many  as  can  come 

Are  welcome ;  we'll  provide  each  man  a  home, 

Wherein  he'll  more  attached  grow  to  our  soil 

Than  that  he  left  when  bound  our  own  to  spoil." 

But  what !  is  this  the  prudent  solidarity 

We  hailed,  which  was  to  render  war  a  rarity  ? 

By  war,  nor  governments  nor  peoples  gain ; 

The  only  interest  (useless  'twere  to  feign 


A  SATIRE.  23 

Our  ignorance  of  the  fact)  that  wins  by  war, 

Though  half  its  time  professing  to  abhor, 

Is,  now,  the  Press  :  wars,  rumours,  and  alarms. 

Success  or  failure  of  contending  arms. 

Its  front  invest  with  sanguinary  charms. 

So  much  the  part  they  favour  of  belligerents 

Now,  our  hot-blooded  echtors,  refrigerants 

Like  right  and  reason  are  quite  out  of  fashion. 

While  they  run  up  the  market  price  of  passion. 

Till  both  the  combatants  have  bit  the  dust ; 

Then  mark,  I  beg,  their  slowly  cooling  crust ; 

Until  some  future  like  occasion  offers 

To  gull  the  mass  and  hne  their  private  coffers. 

CRITIC. 

There's  nothing  raises  so  the  people's  spite 

As  when  you  try  to  teach  them  what  is  right. 

The  popular  mmd  has  such  a  quackish  turn 

It  can't  conceive  it  possible  to  learn ; 

And  if  you  mean  the  public  grace  to  earn 

You  must  assume  their  very  thoughts,  words,  attitudes ; 

For  Trade  winds  only  blow  in  the  low  latitudes. 

FEIEND. 

So,  to  return  to  our  Society ; 

Over  life's  voyage,  stormy  though  it  be, 

The  heart  is  mellowed,  winehke  by  the  sea. 


24  THE   AGE; 

Wherefore  we  are  rather  grim  about  the  muzzle, 

And  hold  the  state  of  parties  is  a  puzzle ; 

That  statesmen  now  are  much  of  an  enigma, 

And  flourish  most  'neath  what  was  once  a  stigma  ; 

And  politics  more  and  more  like  a  conundioim. 

Since  '•  The  Great  Britain  "  first  stuck  fast  off  Dundrum. 

My  memory  goes  back  to  that  iron  age, 

Far  back,  before  Free  Trade  became  the  rage ; 

Or  "  The  League  "  made  its  leg  upon  the  London  stage ; 

Or  young  Australia,  girt  with  golden  zone. 

Untamed  and  free,  first  sat  her  maiden  throne ; 

Or  curry-powder  was,  by  Norfolk's  peer, 

A  succedaneum  named  for  British  beer. 

AUTHOR. 

Though  in  the  judgment  of  our  astral  wita 
And  theologians,  stern  and  lax  by  fits. 
One  hour's  eclipse  outweighs  a  year  of  light — 
One  deed  of  ill,  a  life  of  truth  and  right, 
Because  a  man  one  foolish  thing  was  fated 
To  say,  shall  he  for  it  be  always  baited  ? 

FRIEND. 

Then  came  the  fatal  rot  of  the  potatoes, 
Whereon  so  many  Quakers  spake  like  Platos ; 
Averring  it  was  all  the  whiskey's  fault, — 
And  murphies  perished  for  the  sins  of  malt. 


A   SATIRE.  25 

But  as  they  could  not  prove  by  Aristotle 

Their  point,  they  sighed,  and  called  for  t'other  bottle. 

Followed  the  year  of  rows  and  revolutions, 

And  outlawed  patriots  with  weak  constitutions, 

Who,  opening  business  by  expeUing  kings. 

Ended  with  suffering  all  sorts  of  things. 

These  are  the  men  we  hold,  for  Freedom's  sake,  fast, 

Who  can  with  pen  a  revolution  make  fast, 

And  draw  up  a  repubhc  while  at  breakfast ; 

Who  vend  subhme  and  harrowing  proclamations 

To  unmapped  empires  and  unlieard  of  nations ; 

But  who,  when  tested,  ignorant  we  find 

Both  of  their  own  and  their  compatriots'  mind. 

CRITIC. 

Of  course  the  "  Little-go  "  of  Enghsh  Chartists, 
In  which  they  proved  but  very  bunghng  artists, . 
Is  hardly  worth  commemorating  now. 

FRIEND. 

In  fact,  they  lacked  substratum  for  a  row. 

On  abstract  questions  all  have  equal  right. 

And  rich  and  poor  like  favour  find  in  sight 

Of  law  and  faith ;  but  when  our  private  views 

A  bearing  practical  assume,  we  use 

A  different  rule ;  demanding  guarantees 

For  life,  peace,  property,  and  things  like  these. 


26  THE   AGE; 

A  man's  opinion  of  the  rule  of  three 

Matters  not  much,  perliaps,  to  you  or  me  ; 

Nor  if  he  thinks  the  question  he  can  solve, 

As  to  the  manner  in  which  moons  revolve  ; 

"We  feed,  work,  trade,  the  same,  though  Rev.  Amnion 

(To  me  his  Biblical- Cottonian  gammon 

Seems  just  the  thing  denounced — read  Luke — as  mammon) 

Proves  that  in  Afric  men  their  children  suckle. 

And,  in  some  tribes,  the  sapient  niggers  knuckle 

Down  to  the  dusky  ladies  of  creation ; 

The  most  momentous  piece  of  information 

His  oracle  relates  of  the  black  nation. 

But  when  a  man's  opinions  mean  taxation, 

Sedition,  anarchy,  or  spoliation, 

"Why,  then,  we  come  to  veiy  diflferent  matters, ' 

Say  what  we  think,  and  neither  of  us  flatters. 

Next  came  the  combat  'tween  the  bull  of  liomc 

And  our  bull-headed  Mino-taur  at  home. 

Scarce  does  the  Roman  bull  set  foot  on  shore. 

Than  the  land  shakes  witl\  his  defiant  roar. 

Was  heard  the  answer  next  of  the  First  Mini.-fcr, 

From  Wick  to  Land's  End  (that's  our  English  Finistcrro). 

Then  grew  the  whole  Press  piously  litigious, 

Saints  controversial,  editors  religious  ; 

And,  as  a  proof  of  policy  prodigious, 


A  SATIRE.  27 

The  mayors  of  towns,  whose  names  were  hardly  known, 

Took  worlds  to  witness  they'd  maintain  the  throne. 

At  last,  the  mountain  kittened  ;  we've  a  bill, 

With  two  retractile  clauses  armed  at  will, 

Which  settles  all  things  by  remaining  still, 

And  doing  nothing  with  consummate  skill. 

Thus  ends  John  Bull  his  spiritual  duel, 

And  mourns  in  peg-tops  and  tlu-ee-water-gruel. 

High  Church  we  are,  and,  somehow,  rather  hope 

Something  may  sometime  happen  to  the  Pope ; 

Whose  end,  by  prophets  Protestant,  appears 

To  have  been  due  about  three  hundred  years. 

But  spiritual  power's  both  least  and  most ; 

And  who  on  earth  can  grapple  with  a  ghost  ? 

It  shrinks  from  one,  it  terrifies  a  host ; 

And  one  who  takes  three  centuries  to  die. 

Is,  possibly,  as  hale  as  you  or  I. 

Then  came  that  great  event,  the  Exhibition, 

Wlien  England  dared  the  world  to  competition. 

As  Robin  Hood  took  no  man  in  his  band 

But  who  had  thwacked  him  till  he  scarce  could  stand. 

So  England  welcomes  to  her  willing  shore 

Each  foreign  grace  that  foils  her  o'er  and  o'er. 

But  still,  I  hold,  we  were  triumphant  seen 

In  iron,  coal,  and  many  a  huge  machine. 


28  THE   AGE; 

AUTHOR. 

Peace-men  had  then  their  beatific  vision ; 
And  Alt-schools  were  to  render  earth  Elysian. 

CRITIC. 

But  glass  and  iron  vanished ;  and,  it's  clear, 
Art-Education  don't  succeed  on  beer. 
If  popular  art  you  want,  live  in  some  wine-land, 
Whether  it's  France,  or  Italy,  or  Rheinland, 
Which  there  you'll  get ;  for  touch  and  feeling  fine 
Towards  gracious  ends  (true  Art  is  half  divine), 
Ask  for  support  a  modicum  of  wine. 


What  England,  as  a  nation,  wants,  is  taste ; 

The  judgment  that's  in  due  proportion  placed ; 

We  overdo,  we  underdo,  or  waste. 

Look  at  that  monstrous  thing  they  call  a  statue, 

On  entering  the  old  Abbey,  staring  at  you. 

Is  it  the  genius  of  the  British  nation 

Promoted  to  that  marble  exaltation, 

Dwarfing  all  other  objects  by  its  size  ? 

Or  is't  illustrative  of  legal  lies  ? 

(As  finding  on  inquiry,  I  infer), 

It  represents  a  Cliancery  barrister. 


A  SATIRE.  29 

A  statesman  ?  never  sired  nor  nursed  a  law, 

But  skilled  to  find  or  to  defend  a  flaw, 

And  featly  argue  pleas  he  could  not  draw. 

Wliile  Pitt  and  Fox,  each  'neath  his  plain  gray  stone, 

Sleep  side  by  side,  unnoticed  and  unknown. 

But  these  have  higher  fame  than  stone  can  give ; 

That  deathless  life  the  great  elect  to  live, 

Whose  names  are  still  as  oft  on  the  world's  lips, 

As  ere  they  suffered  death's  divine  eclipse. 


Can  any  one  pass  through  Cheapside,  nor  feel 
A  pang  of  horror  shoot  from  head  to  heel. 
That  caricature  colossal  of  "  Sir  Peel," 
As  he  contemplates?     "Mais,  c'est  assez  vile." 
And  as  a  proof  of  exquisite  bad  taste, 
Like  statues  of  him  everywhere  are  placed. 

FRIEND. 

Nor  yet  in  undue  size  alone,  but  number 

Of  spurious  Art-monstrosities  we  cumber 

Street,  minster,  square,  with  stone  or  brazen  lumber. 

In  Greece  or  Rome,  a  man  who  served  his  age 

Nobly,  or  left  his  name  on  history's  page. 

As  patriot,  wise  or  daring,  was  supposed. 

When  death  his  grand  career  had  duly  closed, 


30  THE  AGE; 

"Worthy,  perhaps,  one  statue ;  and  the  same 

By  peers  and  people  willed  in  full  acclaim, 

Stamped  honour's  wreath  immortal  round  his  name. 

With  vulgar  prodigality  of  brass 

("Which  costs  us  nothing  here),  our  cockneys  pass, 

Cabbing  from  Hyde  Park  Corner  to  the  Tower, 

Their  Iron  Duke  six  times  within  the  hour. 

Lo !  where  the  giant,  cock-horse  on  the  arch. 

Relentless  gives  the  word  perpetual  "  March !  — " 

"Whereby  is  typified,  in  symbol  witty. 

The  army  riding  rough-shod  o'er  the  city. 


"We  read  in  history,  that  from  Cortez'  force 

Strayed  once,  on  march,  a  miserable  horse. 

The  natives,  in  whose  country  he,  chance-driven. 

Wandered,  beheved  the  brute  a  god  from  heaven. 

Or  some  beneficent  demon,  at  the  least ; 

Not  having  known  before  that  kind  of  beast. 

They  lodged  him  nobly  ;  worshipped  him  some  hours ; 

And  begged  him  to  partake  of  fowls  and  flowers. 

But  though  these  offerings  doubtless  pleased  his  eye, 

They  plagued  his  heart ;  and  so,  reduced  to  lie. 

Though  leagues  of  grass  waved  round  him  eight  feet  high, 

Their  deity  had  nothing  but  to  die. 


A  SATIRE. 

They,  thinking  that  he  did  this  to  condemn 

Some  sins  or  vices  he  had  spied  in  them, 

Not  to  be  cozened  out  of  all  their  pains, 

Propped  up  his  bones,  and  worshipped  his  remains. 

So  we,  adopting  just  as  sane  a  course, 

By  thus  immortaUzing  Wellesley's  horse. 

Honour  the  incarnation  of  brute  force. 

AUTHOK. 

To  which  the  hero's  life  is  mostly  lent ; 

His  fixed  idea  of  good  government. 

Though  kings  exhaust  their  honours  on  his  breast, 

And  mourning  myriads  mob  him  to  his  rest, 

For  whom,  when  living,  he  but  scorn  expressed ; 

Though  printing  presses  praise  with  tons  of  trash. 

And  law-lords  eulogize  till  all  be  blash, 

The  hero  knows  alike  both  crowds  and  kings, 

"Weak-purposed,  treacherous,  variable  things  ; 

And  that  to  seal  the  welfare  of  the  few 

Is  all  that  wisdom, — all  that  force  can  do. 


Mankind  are  ruled  to  their  profound  content, 
By  three  things  mainly ;  force,  fraud,  accident. 


32  THE  AGE; 

CRITIC. 

Add  habit ;  'tis  a  vast  predicament. 

AUTHOR. 

Add  law,  creed,  interest,  and  their  own  consent. 


Under  the  head  of  accident  I  class 
Whate'er  of  good  or  wise  may  come  to  pass. 
Upon  the  rest  I  need  not  now  dilate, 
For  reasons,  justly  to  be  termed  of  State. 
Applaud,  assist,  whichever  you  may  please  ; 
You  govern  only  under  one  of  these. 


All  government  is  based  on  force,  attractive 
Moral,  and  centralizing ;  or,  on  active. 
Repressive,  and  material ;  these  we  know 
The  dual  powers  which  balance  all  below. 
The  first  demands  no  evidence ;  the  second 
On  coarse  and  showy  forms  has  always  reckoned 
To  imi^ose  upon  and  please  the  vulgar  mind. 
Or  awe  the  mass  with  proof  of  powers  combined. 
Though  not  of  yore,  where'er  a  monarch  went 
Was  heard  the  cannon's  blatant  compliment; 
The  silent  pomp  of  his  mere  presence  told, 


A  SATIRE.  33 

Far  more  than  bellowing  brass,  or  smoke  outrolled, 
Of  powers  devolved  from  Heaven  that  kings  coukl  hold. 
"We  have  interrupted  you,  I'm  half  afraid. 


Then  came  tne  grandest  drama  ever  played : 

As  foul  or  monstrous  masses,  crystallized, 

Take  wholesome  nature  and  a  shape  well  prized, 

A  state  was  from  a  revolution  made 

Betwixt  cock-crow  and  cock-crow  ;  in  which  case 

The  veriest  unities  of  time  and  place 

Were  delicately  kept,  with  Greek,  with  Gallic  grace. 

I  read  De  Morny's  manifesto  when 

I  am  wearied  with  the  ways  of  common  men. 

We  hke  the  Emperor,  and  are  not  afraid 

To  own  him  "  a  skilled  workman  "  in  his  trade  ; 

But  don't  feel  called  on,  for  all  that,  to  thank 

That  patriotic  and  ingenious  Frank, 

Now  taking  soundings  for  an  under-channel 

Railroad,  because  to  cross  it  makes  a  man  ill ; 

That  Continental  troops  may  ride  at  ease, 

From  France  to  England,  underneath  the  seas. 

Passing  from  arts  and  empire,  came  the  war, 

Which  brings  us  down  to  where  we  nearly  are. 

The  object  of  that  war  appears  to  me 

Wrapped  in  this  query  : — Russia !  shall  it  be 

8 


34  THE    AGE; 

In  Europe  ?  or,  shall  Europe  be  in  Russia  ? 
So  France  and  England  rose  in  arms  to  crush  a 
Gigantic  foe  which  threatened  their  existence ; 
Quelled  by  God's  grace,  and  mutual  assistance. 


The  object  granted, — were  we  justified 
In  waging  war  for  rights  so  misapplied 
As  those,  by  infidels  upon  whose  side 
We  fought  ? 

FRIEND. 

"Were  war  e'er  righteous  that's  the  one  ; 
Tlie  mischief  is,  it  left  off  work  half  done. 

CRITIC. 

A  man,  then's,  not  ex  vi  a  hypocrite  ? 

FRIEND. 

But  when  he  boasts  himself  his  opposite. 
What's  war  but  wholesale  murder  legalized  ? 
All  law  first  quashed,  whereby  'tis  authorized. 
For  war,  with  Christianity  combined, 
A  mere  chimaera  forms,  of  ill-trained  mind. 
They  nulhfy  each  other  for  the  nonce. 
And  cannot  both  be  entertained  at  once. 
One  or  the  other  triumphs,  and  which  ever 
Does  so,  that  moment  you  the  two  dissever. 


A  SATIRE.  35 


That  each  may  necessary  be,  I  grant, 

But  nothing  can  combine  the  two  but  cant. 

As  long  as  we  are  cutting  otliers'  throats, 

The  act  an  act  of  heathenry  denotes. 

And  puts  the  self-called  Christian  out  of  court, 

Whatever  else  his  claims  to  that  resort. 


Question  !     Does  Christianity  dispense 
With  rights  and  duties  bound  to  self-defence  ? 


If  I'm  assaulted  by  another  man, 
I  am  justified  in  slaying,  if  I  can, 
The  would-be  murderer.     Who  assails  my  Hfe, 
Earns,  if  he  gets,  his  death-stroke  in  the  strife. 
For  life  and  liberty  a  man  may  fight, 
For  kithe  and  kindred  sacred  in  his  sight, 
And  honour  dearer  than  the  golden  light. 
But  if  I  run  a  man  right  through  and  through, 
As  in  some  cases  I've  a  right  to  do, 
I'll  boast  no  Christian  motive  in  the  act. 
Nor  Gospels  garble  to  excuse  the  fact ; 
Enough  that  he's  a  rogue,  and  I'm  attacked. 
Ask  me  how  much  about  his  soul  I  care 
Just  at  that  moment,  and — no  !  I'll  not  swear. 


36  "^""^  ^^^' 

CRITIC. 

Then  self-defence  and  wars  defensive  may, 
In  certain  cases,  be  allowed,  we'll  say. 

FRIEND. 

Truly.     What  I  profess  I  cannot  bear, 
Is  mixing  up  reUgion  in  the  affair. 
Wracking  with  blood  and  fire  eai'th's  every  region. 
Yet  innocent  as  some  lactating  pigeon. 
Boasting  ourselves  and  peace-making  religion. 
But  name  the  wars  defensive  England  e'er 
With  Kaffirs,  Sikhs,  Affghans,  or  anywhere 
In  Russia,  Persia,  China,  India's  waged. 
Does  wounded  interest,  or  self-love  enraged. 
Give  yet  a  hope  of  thirst  for  war  assuaged? 
Or  are  we  still— such  hypocrites  men  are— 
Preachmg  up  peace,  and  practising  but  war  ? 
What  was  our  strife  with  France  engaged  in  for? 
By  crushing  Boney  did  we  better  Europe? 
Or  help  to  bind  old  bondsmen  with  a  new  rope? 

AUTHOR. 

Defensive  war,  at  least,  is  justified. 

CRITIC. 

But  all  war  is  defensive  on  one  side. 


)     . 


A  SATIRE.  37 

FKIEND. 

It  matters  less  who  first  begins  a  quarrel, 

Than  who  for  right  and  good  contends,  who  for  ill. 

CRITIC. 

Precisely.     Now,  the  only  thing  required 

To  rule  the  world  in  reason,  as  desired. 

Is  a  perpetual  oracle  inspired 

To  settle  every  question  that  subvenes. 

And  say  what  right,  truth,  good,  or  aught  else,  means. 

AUTIIOK. 

You  have  it  in  the  Scriptures. 

FKIESD. 

True  ;  but  there 
We  lack  again  the  inspired  interpreter. 

AUTHOR. 

The  Church  ? 

FRIEND. 

The  Church !     We're  Protestants,  good  sir  ; 
And  hold  the  Church,  as  you  or  I,  may  err. 

AUTHOR. 

You  have  no  ultimate  guide,  then  ? 

FRIEND. 

I  admit 
That  none  but  One  is  possible  or  fit ; 


38  THE  AGE; 

And  that  One  not  confined  to  Chiircli  or  see, 

But  wheresoe'er  His  Temples  are,  there  He. 

And  during  all  this  time  jour  brainless  Press, 

jS^ot  all  I  own,  but  always  more  or  less, 

Swept  clean  of  common  sense,  as  by  "  distress," 

Must,  week  by  week,  prognosticate  the  fall 

Of  Europe's  foremost  name  imperial. 

Still,  week  by  week,  the  long  laborious  lie. 

Noxious,  yet  rich  in  foul  fecundity, 

Like  some  old  stump  where  toadstools  seed  and  rot, 

Springs  fresh  from  its  own  spawn,  and  die  wiU  not. 

But  modern  prophets  play  a  tedious  game ; 

For,  unlike  Beor's  son,  howe'er  they  came, 

Tis  cursing  they  depart,  and  feel  no  shame 

That,  hap  what  may,  they're  always  wrong  the  same. 

Thus,  once  a*band  of  Balaams  from  the  North, 

Professors,  skalds,  historians,  all  set  forth ; 

Scattering  dismay  throughout  the  land,  they  went 

Southwards,  to  beard  the  Free  Trade  Parliament ; 

But  every  now  and  then,  to  hoard  the  race, 

Like  engines  "  blowing-off "  their  steam  apace, 

They  paused,  and  puffed  each  other  in  the  face. 

Arriving  just  in  time  to  be  too  late, 

Tiicy  preached  to  crowded  pits,  on  England's  fate, 

And  proved  before  us  all  to  demonstration. 

The  final  sunset  of  the  British  nation. 


A  SATIRE.  39 

But  poor  Britannia  takes,  with  patience  fraught, 

More  ruining  than  many  people  thought ; 

So  while  her  fate  not  much  our  fears  increased, 

We  groaned,  and  wiped  our  spectacles — at  least. 

They  might  have  saved  their  breath  to  cool  their  porritch ; 

Mankind  so  laughed  crape  fell  ^  at  Norwich. 

Then  came  the  Peace,  and  age  of  infant  preachers, 

When  old  men  played  old  boys,  and  boys  played  teachers. 

AUTHOR. 

Knowledge,  not  wisdom,  corrugates  the  brow, 
The  nursling  may  be  wiser  than  you  now. 

FKIEJJD. 

Then  Churchmen  and  Dissenters  hailed  the  advantage 

On  either  side,  of  so  much  power  of  rantage ; 

And  they  were  thought  for  cure  of  souls  the  best, 

Who  measured  most  of  inches  o'er  the  chest. 

All  which  discussion  in  the  daily  papers 

As  wholesome  proved  as  that  on  unlit  tapers. 

CRITIC. 

Is't  because  Boanerges  roar  and  thunder 
They  draw  such  flocks  ?     For  much  it  moves  my  wonder 
That  crowds,  with  joy  so  marked,  it  might  be  shammed. 
Should  rush  to  hear  themselves  so  loudly  damned ; 


40  THE   AGE ; 

And  all,  in  tones  that  might  volcanoes  quell, 
Obstreperously  ordered  off  to — well. 
The  word's  tabooed,  it  ends,  I  think,  in  "  1." 
But  wedged  in  tight  twixt  muslin  and  brocade, 
A  sobbing  matron  and  a  shuddering  maid  ; 
With  tears  one  reddens  her  Junonian  eyes, 
One  bursts  her  new  French  bodice  with  her  sighs, 
Ah  me !  what  sins  their  memories  must  comprise ! 
Sweet  sympathy  there  drives  a  roaring  trade 
And  makes,  or  finds,  some  martyrs,  I'm  afraid. 


Bank-rogues,  to  wit,  who  open  shop  with  prayer ; 
As  if,  while  you  were  ogling  my  Lord  Mayor, 
Whom  Providence  hath  anchored  in  that  chair, 
Some  tiny  rascal  should  your  pocket  rifle 
Of  watch,  purse,  handkerchief,  or  other  trifle, 
Saying,  "  For  what  we  are  going  to  receive 
May  the  Lord  make  us  thankful !  "  you  may  grieve ; 
But  watch  and  he  together  tiike  French  leave. 

FRIEND.  - 

On  serious  subjects  I  confess  I  touch 
With  some  reluctance  and  with  reverence  much. 
Religious  liberty  makes  (such  as  ours) 
Church  and  Dissent  alike  respected  powers ; 


A  SATIRE.  41 


This  one  established  by  the  general  will, 

By  special  that,  for  freedom's  sacred  still ; 

Both  seem  to  flourish  best  when  side  by  side 

They  fight  one  foe,  or  emulous  breast  the  tide 

Of  unbelief,  vice,  profligacy,  pride. 

But  though  Dissent  is  sooner  put  in  motion, 

The  Church  hath  more  of  rational  devotion, 

And  that  majestic  order  which  we  feel, 

Faith  her  first  law,  knowledge  her  last  reveal. 

A  polype  cut  as  oft  as  you  can  count, 

Hath  of  vitality  no  more  amount 

Than  when  entire ;  and  thus  too  of  Dissent ; 

"Which  some  bring  forward  as  an  argument 

Of  separate  action,  favouring  vitality, 

Good  Mother  Church  as  much  hath  in  reality. 

CKITIC. 

No  argument  of  mine  I  beg  you'll  seize  on. 

AUTHOR. 

To  argue  does  not  always  mean  to  reason. 

FRIEND. 

A  Protestant  and  Catholic  once  engaged 
In  controversy ;  fierce  the  battle  raged. 
All  Christendom  in  dumb  suspense  agreed 
The  event  should  fix  the  universal  creed. 


42  THE   AGE  ; 

The  weapons  of  their  warfare  strew  the  ground, 

And  gross  abuse  and  verbal  dirt  abound  ; 

Wig,  mitre,  cassock,  surplice,  alb,  and  stole, 

Goods  that  refresh  or  sanctify  the  soul, 

Decrees  of  councils,  fulminating  bulls. 

The  champions  hurl  at  one  another's  skulls ; 

And  mutual  thrust  with  such  death-dealing  quills 

That  each,  in  hope,  his  foeman's  life-ink  spills. 

For  many  a  moon  the  combatants  were  lost 

In  clouds  of  learned  dust  on  all  sides  tossed, 

Till  two  triumphant  shouts  each  other  crossed. 

When  the  belligerents  at  length  grew  visible, 

'Twas  found  (restrain  I  beg  your  muscles  risible). 

That  hero  who  as  Protestant  began. 

Had  made  himself  a  Papist ;  and  the  man 

Who  challenged  first  the  contest,  as  a  priest, 

Holding  himself  infallible  at  least, 

Now  damns  the  Pope,  and  calls  him  "  ten-homed  beast." 

Such  and  so  gi'eat  is  argument,  so  good. 

Disputed  points  stand  always  where  they  stood, 

And  will  do,  doubtless,  till  another  flood. 

To  come  down  to  the  day  which  is  our  own, 

The  world  seems  most  unreasonable  grown ; 

And  few,  if  any,  on  one  point  agree. 

Save  who  shall  play  the  part  of  Pharisee 

With  most  luxurious  inconsistency. 


A   SATIRE.  43 

CEITIC. 

To  all  the  world  (It  struck  me)  and  his  wife 
Brass  bands  and  flower-shows  form  the  bliss  of  life. 


For  this  we  rob  our  brethren  of  the  wealth 

Left  sacred  to  their  faith  and  their  souls'  health 

By  pious  generations,  ages  passed, 

To  many  millions  'mounting  at  the  last ; 

And  then,  with  Messieurs  N — wd — gte  and  Sp — n — r, 

Bum  with  remorse  we  had  not  eased  them  sooner ; 

And  though  so  gorged  to  stir  we're  hardly  able, 

Grudge  them  the  crumb  Maynoothian  'neath  the  table. 

The  virtues  of  all  premiers  massed  in  one. 

From  Pitt  to  Peel,  from  Peel  to  Palmerston, 

Can  scarce  restrain  that  bigoted  rapacity, 

"Which  pelf  prefers  to  national  veracity. 

Though  this,  I  grant,  be  false  conservatism. 

There's  also  seen  a  spurious  liberalism. 

To  open  a  gate,  and  to  pull  down  a  wall 

Are  not  the  same  thing,  I  maintain,  at  all ; 

The  world  itself  is  based  upon  conditions  ; 

We  can't  achieve  at  random  all  volitions ; 

Each  one  imposes  all  the  general  force 

Permits  him  to  accomplish ;  his  main  course 

The  prudent  man  selects,  and  such  fulfils, 

Maugre  all  jealous  or  contrarious  wills. 


44  THE  AGE ; 

Thus  from  opposing  forces  small  and  great 

Results  the  general  interest  of  the  State. 

But  no  one  can  aver  that  black  and  white, 

However  blended,  can  in  tnith  unite. 

Or  be  conceived  as  one  by  mental  sight. 

If  I  deride  the  Lamas  'tis  not  fit 

That  I  should  in  their  chief  assembly  sit, 

Nor  seek  to  govern  in  the  State  through  it ; 

So,  if  the  creed  I  trust  in,  they  contemn, 

'Twere  vain  to  hope  for  unity  with  them. 

Does  Nathan  burn  to  be  elected  Pope  ? 

He'll  first  become  a  Christian,  let  us  hope. 

Does  Pio  languish  to  be  hailed  Chief  Priest  ? 

He  miust  submit  to  (what  is  it  ?)  at  least. 

Would  you  be  Begler-Beg  in  grand  divan  ? 

Then  you'll  profess  yourself  a  Mussulman. 

So,  if  a  Jew,  in  any  Cliristian  land, 

To  represent  the  people  forth  should  stand. 

How  can  he  justly  represent  their  mind. 

On  all  the  thousand  questions  that  we  find. 

Or  more  or  less,  with  Christian  faith  combined  ? 

The  sjiread  of  Christian  truth  to  him's  a  figment. 

Whereby  is  nought  but  larger  sales  of  pig  meant. 

Your  faith's  a  myth,  your  Christ  a  mean  impostor. 

Under  whose  name  one  huge  deceit  you  foster. 

You'll  some  day  find  "  as  sure  as  God's  in  Gloucester.'' 


A   SATIRE.  45 

The  man  is  simply  daft  who  would  enjoy 

All  power  or  privilege  -without  some  alloy. 

"  The  Queen,  herself,  can  do  wrong  "  ;  who  said  it, 

Said  justly ;  but  her  ministers  take  credit 

For  doing,  or  advising,  all  that's  right ; 

So  even  in  the  constitution's  sight. 

And  in  her  own  prerogative's  despite, 

Her's  is  a  negative  enjoyment  quite. 

AUTIIOE. 

The  answer  to  these  arguments  is  one 

Tliat  can't  be  well  refuted.     The  thing's  done. 

Your  proofs  are  irresistible,  I  own. 

FRIEND. 

We  don't  think  men  in  power  have  lives  so  free 
From  cark  and  care  as  some  squireens,  may  be ; 
We  know  the  country  oft  is  most  ungrateful 
To  those  who  year  by  year  an  aching  pate  full 
Have  of  her  business,  to  the  detriment 
Of  their  own  need  ;  but  these  things  leave  content 
To  those  whose  forte  or  fate  is  such  to  manage, 
And  statesmen,  who  arise  but  once  in  an  age. 
While  lasts  the  dust  and  struggle  of  the  race 
The  world  can  scarcely  mark  men's  proper  place. 


46  THE   AGE; 

Reviled,  reproached,  on  all  sides  poked  and  hit, 
Denied  all  wisdom,  but  impeached  of  wit, 
That  frightful  sin,  all  dullards  hating  it ; 
The  patriot  victim  of  some  popular  bray, 
When  all  ^vill  speak  and  none  have  aught  to  say, 
Apart  from  rumour's  contradictory  lies ; — 
Or  veteran  statesman  in  his  stern  emprise, 
Posterity  alone  with  calm,  clear  eyes 
Can  fitly  judge  ;  from  brazen  bellowing  lungs, 
The  witling's  war,  the  tournament  of  tongues ; 
The  senate's  prosy  purge,  whose  drastic  wit, 
However  full  the  House,  soon  empties  it ; 
From  foes  and  j^arasites  of  power,  who  fight 
Not  because  each  is  wrong,  but  both  are  right ; 
He  turns  to  her  who  knows  his  secret  aim ; 
She,  smiling,  to  the  sister  hands  of  Fame, 
Confides  the  sealed  credentials  of  his  name. 


I,  on  the  whole,  have  come  to  one  conclusion. 
That  government's  a  noble  institution  ; 
And  we  and  all  mankind  with  awe  should  cover  us, 
Towards  those  who  take  the  trouble  to  rule  over  us  ; 
But  that  of  marvellous  men  on  earth's  round  ball. 
The  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  caps  them  all ; 


A  SATIRE.  47 

And  second  but  to  that  paragon  of  our  nation 
\Yho  first  invented  indirect  taxation  ; 
(A  grander  principle  than  gravitation), 
Whereby  the  more  we  fleece  ourselves,  in  verity, 
The  more  we  add  to  general  prosperity. 

AUTHOR. 

Which  had  the  Stuart  known,  he  to  this  day 
Had  kept  his  head,  nor  Scotland  had  to  say 
She  sold  her  sovereign  for  arrears  of  pay ; 
Nor  Puritanic  hypocrites  had  borne 
The  weight  of  Cromwell's  arm,  who  rose  forsworn 
'Gainst  Charles's  finger  ;  nor  the  foul  disgrace 
Of  desecrating  Bi-itain's  royal  race. 

CRITIC. 

To  make  amends  for  that  we  are  bound  to  strive  ; 
And  aren't  we  now,  as  any  folk  ahve, 
Loyal  to  her,  the  Queen  Bee  of  our  hive, 
IMother  of  queens,  that  shall  be,  if  things  thrive ; 
Whose  life  seems  one  long  popular  event, 
Crowned  with  perpetual  and  supreme  content  ? 

FRIEND. 

Ah  !  times  are  altered.     Right  and  just  and  all  moral 
Ai-e  things  at  Windsor  now,  we  know,  and  Balmoral ; 


48  THE   AGE; 

So  unlike  Carlton  Houses  and  Pavilions, 

Whei'B  "  play  "  lost  thousands,  and  work  wasted  millions. 

Vowed  to  contempt,  tlie  habits  of  a  court 

No  more,  of  lofty  moralists  the  sport. 

United  thus  with  human  nature's  best, 

Have  drawn  the  sting  from  many  a  waspish  jest 

And  gibe,  now  perished  utterly,  as  though 

You  breathed  upon  a  falling  flake  of  snow. 

But  time  wears  on.     I  had  not  thought  to  say 

One  word  upon  the  topics  of  the  day. 

AUTHOR. 

'Tis  easier  far  on  themes  and  things  political 

To  say  one's  mind,  than  aught  we  wise  or  witty  call. 


A  man's  opinions,  partially  concealed, 
Have  some  advantage  over  those  revealed. 


In  youth  we  form  opinions  ;  as  we  age 

"We  cease  that  process,  and,  become  more  sage, 

In  rectifying  those  of  youth  engage. 

CBITIC. 

But  now  I  think  of  it, — 


A  SATIRE.  49 

AUTHOR. 

Why  yes ;  I've  brouglit 
A  trifling  MS.  wliicli  I  hoped, — I  thought — 


Thank  ye.     I've  seen  so  many  in  my  day  ; — 

In  fact,  I  read  but  little  any  way, 

And  manuscript,  I  must  say,  least  of  all. 

Young  authors  mostly  write  such  wretched  scrawl, 

They  might  have  been  (so  deefns  a  mere  outsider) 

Taught  penmanship  by  some  demented  spider, 

Whose  education  had  been  so  neglected, 

That  what  his  jiupils  proved  might  be  expected. 

AUTHOR. 

I  thought  you  read  what  you  reviewed  ? 

CRITIC. 

Sometimes, 
Wlien  our  opinion  with  the  Author's  chimes. 

FRIEND. 

Good.     A  mind  open  to  conviction  means 
One  free  to  tend  which  side  self-interest  leans. 

CRITIC. 

But  ah  ;  just  Heaven!  what  have  I  done  at  last? 
Evaded  dog-tax  ?  or,  when  came  the  Fast, 
4 


50  THE  AGE; 

Was  it,  that  on  the  seventh  of  last  October 

I  was  (perhaps)  too  abstinent — too  sober  ? 

The  noble  order  of  Pythagoreans, 

Who  ate  of  neither  hearts,  nor  brains,  nor  beans 

(Note  the  diaeresis),  nor  drank  of  wine 

Until  the  sun,  sea-setting,  gave  the  sign 

To  the  Initiate,  Avere  not  more  punctilious 

Than  I,  though  constitutionally  bilious, 

And  not  improved  by  losing  a  day's  dinner, 

Which,  though  it  makes  one  sallower  grow  and  thinner, 

Leaves  me  as  much  as  ever  of  a  sinner ; 

Whatever  my  offence,  like  Cain,  I  swear 

My  punishment  is  more  than  I  can  bear. 

AUTHOR. 

Why,  what  on  earth's  the  matter  ? 

FRIEND. 

"Wliat's  amiss? 

CRITIC. 

Look  on  this  bard — the  miscreant !     And  on  this ! 

FRIEND. 

What,  this  ?     Woe's  me  !  a  roll  of  rhymes,  I  find. 

CRITIC. 

Oh,  rhyme !  thou  fatal  gift  to  humankind ; 


^^cxAaTv  SAnH/WVv(Vk 


A  SATIRE.  51 

Bane  of  our  tongue,  beguiler  of  our  youth, 

Far  urging  from  the  strict  and  sober  truth ; 

Far  from  the  steep  where  science  cheering  stands. 


Oh,  help  me,  Phoebus  !     In  what  gentle  hands 
I've  placed  my  verses,  and  my  muse's  credit. 
Give  back  the  volume ! 

CEITIC. 

What?     Before  I've  read  it  ? 

FKIEND. 

Of  fugitive  verse  I  cannot  say  I'm  fond. 

CRITIC. 

Of  fugitive  ?  No  ;  nor  yet  of  vagabond. 
Behold  another  innocent  designed 
To  swell  some  massacre  of  infant  mind. 
The  crowd,  the  crush,  of  books  is  now  so  great. 
Of  inky  rags  earth  groans  beneath  the  weight, 
And  ofttimes  sore  remonstrates  with  her  fate : 
"While  mobs  of  mimic  bards,  before  our  eyes, 
The  "  wilderness  of  monkeys  "  realize. 

FRIEND. 

Here  with  my  learned  brother  I  concur ; 
For  books  one  scarcely  can  with  comfort  stir 


52  THE   AGE; 

From  house  to  house.     The  nonsense  they  contain 
Breeds,  doubtless,  polymania  in  the  brain. 


Why  we  may  not  as  reasonably  produce 
New  books,  as  Nature  new  things  for  our  use, 
When  winter  wanes,  and  slowly  greening  woods 
Make  dim  the  distant  view  through  thickening  buds, 
I  cannot  see.     For  eveiy  time  and  place 
Hath  special  want  and  aptitude  and  case, 
Which  leaves  for  just  supply  an  ample  space. 

FRIEND. 

Three  hundred  volumes,  somewhat  more  or  less. 

Would  hold  the  best  of  treasures  we  possess  ; 

Of  course,  we  don't  suppose  oracular  Argo, 

Beside  her  heroes,  took  superfluous  cargo  ; 

My  view  has  been  to  private  use  confined. 

Just  noting  founts  of  thought  and  crowns  of  mind ; 

To  know  which  braces  both  the  feeblest  powers, 

And  strains  the  strength  of  strongest  minds  (like  ours)  ; 

Who  books  amasses,  piles  for  future  Goths 

Their  fires ;  or  caters  but  for  worms  and  moths. 


Oh,  for  a  "  coup  d^etat"  to  give  one  power 
To  pitch  into  "  The  Row  "  for  "  half  an  hour 


A  SATIRE.  53 


"With  the  (worst)  authors  ;  "  I'd  have  every  shot 

Fired  at  new  works  particularly  red-hot. 

Nor  only  that ;  but  decimate  the  rank 

And  file  of  that  huge  literary  Bank 

In  Bloomsbury,  y'clept  the  Brit.  Museum. 

AUTHOR. 

This  argument  of  tuum  hurts  not  mevm. 
Allow  me  to  submit  to  you  the  fact, 
These  leaves  by  printer's  ink  are  all  intact. 


True ;  but  why  write  at  all  ?     There,  there's  your  fault 
Once  on  their  march,  bards  know  not  how  to  halt. 
Long  as  they  live,  verse  dribbles  upon  verse, 
And  each  one  mostly  than  the  prior  worse. 

AUTHOR. 

I  have  considered  things  beneath  the  sun 
Like  Solomon,  and  even  some  things  done, 
And  know  not  where  to  seek  more  noble  thought. 
More  spotless  truth,  or  art  more  finely  wrought, 
Than  in  the  works  of  bards  of  every  time. 
Of  every  creed  and  language,  class  and  clime  ; 
Of  every  science,  song's  the  most  sublime, 
And  tops  the  sphere  of  knowledge  like  the  ball 
Of  brilliants  on  the  crown  imperial. 


54  THE   AGE; 

It  treats  of  all  that's  great,  or  fair,  or  true  ; 

Its  eldest  beauties  are  all  fresh  as  dew  ; 

Old  Homer  is  like  spring  time  ever  new. 

My  brain,  shall  mathematics  cramp  and  craze  ? 

Or  metaphysics  in  their  mill-horse  maze  ? 

Wliere  will  you  send  me,  pray,  to  search  for  trulli, — ■ 

In  logic's  dry  and  varnished  bones,  forsooth  ? 

In  ethics  or  Pantheons,  while  we  see 

Each  land  has  its  pet  immorality. 

Except  our  own,  which  generously  embraces 

Vice  of  all  times,  and  virtue  of  aU  places  ? 

In  following  up  affinities  and  laws  * 

Of  atomies  imponderable,  cause 

And  combination  of  all  things  material, 

Igneous,  aquatic,  earthy,  and  aerial, 

Till  Nature  through  our  fingers  seems  to  slip, 

"We  lose  the  more,  the  tighter  that  we  grip, 

And  dread  in  our  time  it  should  come  to  pass 

That  all  things  end,  as  tliey  began,  in  gas  ? 

In  chronicling  the  clouds,  or  studying  strata  ? 

Stones,  bones,  and  such  like  geologic  data  ; 

In  pinning  butterflies  ?  or  picking  shells  ? 

In  carving  cats  ?  or  Canterbury  bells  ? — 

All  these  are  grand  pursuits,  entitled  science, 

Pursuits  with  which  my  soul  disdains  alliance. 


A  SATIRE.  55 

FRIEKD. 

No  doubt  you  take  a  very  lofty  view 
Of  what's  invisible,  and  profound,  if  true  ; 
Say,  "  Critic,  of  pure  reason,"  wbat  tbink  you  ? 

CRITIC. 

That  there  is  sunshine-  outside  every  fog 

I  question  not ;  'neath  every  quaking  bog 

Firm  land  is  somewhere  to  be  found,  I  grant, — 

Nay,  superimposed  on  beds  of  adamant ; 

But  how  to  gain  the  tip-top,  how  the  base, 

Is  just  the  difficulty  in  either  case. 

Meantime  the  hindrance  we  must  quit,  or  face. 

A  man  who  writes  a  work  on  physiology, 

Comparative  anatomy,  or  conchology, 

"Writes  it  to  show  man's  structure,  and  creation's, 

In  Jleason's  last,  maturest  observations. 

FRIEND. 

Truly.     These  things  are  with  instruction  rife. 
My  Doctor,  now,  for  instance,  tells  me  life 
Depends  on  putrefaction  ;  and  digestion 
Shows  but  another  aspect  of  that  question. 
The  fermentative  and  combustive  process 
"We  carry  on  within  ourselves  with  no  cess- 
Ation,  until  the  mill  forgets  to  grind. 
And  stops  for  want,  or  some  say  change,  of  wind. 


56  THE  AGE; 

How  very  curious  it  must  be  to  leara  all 
This  soul-case  holds  of  cogs  and  wheels  internal. 
These  studies,  therefore,  are,  I  think,  as  any  fit : 
Two  winters  spent  at  Guy's  a  bard  would  benefit. 


There's  something  in  those  topics  well  worth  knowing. 

According  to  your  own  imperfect  showing, 

While  yet  the  brain's  elastic,  ripening,  growing. 

But  poetry,  except  with  one  or  two. 

Is  penned  because  men  have  not  much  to  do, — 

Of  course  I  don't  mean  that's  the  case  with  you. 

AUTHOR. 

But  if  you  did,  and  though  it  were,  to  me 

It  matters  not ;  the  leisured  mind  is  free  ; 

And  freedom  is  to  wisdom  so  affied. 

You  may  regard  them  as  bridegroom  and  bride. 

FRIEND 

I  beg  your  pardon  ;  Wisdom's  an  old  maid, 
And  of  all  freedom  mortally  afraid. 


A  man  conceits  himself  inspired  ;  mistakes 
ImpressibiHty  for  power,  and  makes 
A  volume  of  his  blunder  for  our  sakes. 


A  SATIRE.  57 


Witli  gold  pen,  ruby-tipped,  he  sits,  indites 
A  love-strain  to  his  mistress  (Queen  of  frights, 
As  he  depicts  her).     Oh !  her  snowy  hair 
Flows  o'er  her  ebon  bosom,  darkly  fail" ! 


Nay,  you  reverse  aU  qualities,  I  swear. 

CRITIC. 

Do  I  ?     See,  then,  in  verse  a  high  adept, 
A  secret  baixls  have  to  themselves  e'er  kept, 
"Who  so  distort,  confound  things,  and  transfuse, 
All  nature  seems  made  mulish  by  the  muse. 

AUTHOR. 

Poets  have  leave  and  license,  I  admit. 

To  do  aught  in  their  wisdom  they  think  fit. 

The  true  and  only  autocrats  of  mind, 

Nor  e'er  for  posts  responsible  designed  ; 

But  seldom  sin  they  'gainst  what's  true  and  kind. 

CRITIC. 

I  should  much  like,  I  must  confess,  to  see 
A  parliament  of  poets  who'd  agree 
To  any  set  of  laws  which  might  be  made 
To  fix  and  tranquillize  the  rhyming  trade. 
Query, — would  more  than  this  be  e'er  enacted, 
"  Provided  always,  and  be  it  infracted." 


58  THE   AGE; 

FRIEND. 

And  still,  of  all  the  royal  roads  to  Fame, 
There  seems  none  equal  to  the  poet's  name. 

CRITIC. 

Come,  then  ;  to  business. 

AUTHOR. 

Let  there  be  one  word 
In  deprecation  of  harsh  judgment  heard. 
Composed  for  neither  favour,  fame,  nor  pelf, 
But  to  employ,  improve,  or  please  myself. 
These  rhymes,  youth-written — I'm  not  yet  of  age — 


Ah  !  that  "  speaks  volumes." 

AUTHOR. 

Ay,  and  many  a  page 
In  boyhood,  even — I  can  scarce  be  charged 
With  having  squandered  time,  which  in  enlarged 
Pursuits  and  nobler  studies  should  have  passed. 

CRITIC. 

Excuse  me,  there,  I  beg ;  not  quite  so  fast. 
Young  lads  I  fear  will  soon  begin  to  print 
Their  veiy  pot-hooks. 

AUTHOR. 

Thank  you  for  the  hint. 


A  SATIRE.  59 

CKITIC. 

Don't  mention  it.     The  fact  is,  when  one  sees 

Such  headings  as  "Lmes," — Verses," — "Stanzas," — these, 

The  rudiments  of  feeling,  sense,  taste,  thought, 

Are  just  poetic  pot-hooks  ;  good  for  nought. 

Save  as  they  prove  the  urchin  ne'er  will  hold 

His  quill,  nor.  slant  his  down-strokes  as  he's  told. 

'Tis  strange,  but  right  inspires  a  kind  of  terror, — . 

There's  nothing  upon  earth  so  old  as  error. 

So  many  blunders  men  by  nature  make, 

One  might  suppose  the  world  one  great  mistake. 

FEIEND. 

Now  was  there  nothing  you  had  yet  to  learn 
Before  you  took  to  teach  us,  ere  your  turn  ? 

AUTHOR. 

To  tell  the  truth,  I  never  thought  of  teaching. 
Can't  a  man  think  what's  proper  without  preaching  ? 
Speak  earnestly,  unless  he  thump  a  pulpit  ? 
Nor  smoothly,  without  mouthing  to  a  full  pit  ? 
If,  till  we  all  things  know,  we  should  defer 
Doing  what  good  we  can,  'twould  be  to  err 
Vastly  indeed,  and  lovelier  'tis  to  see 
Life's  beauties  budding  than  the  full-leaved  tree. 


60  THE  AGE; 

FKIEND. 

That  answers  to  a  gooseberry-bush,  not  me. 

AUTHOR. 

So  youth  the  season  is  for  poesie. 

CRITIC. 

How  thoroughly  you  have  studied  vegetation  ! 
Green  things,  and  all  that  grow  by  germination. 

AUTHOR. 

Well,  I  admit  it.     Men  are  human  trees, 
Growing  root  heavenwards,  and  their  faculties 
And  senses  spiritual  leaves  and  flowers  ; 
"With  the  divine  addition  that  some  powers — 
Thought,  speech,  and  locomotion  may  be  ours. 
These  in  life's  spring  most  please  the  observer,  when 
Futui'ity  itself  is  making. 

FRIEND. 

Then 
The  curdling  process  of  becoming  men. 

AUTHOR. 

Life's  cup  is  gilded  only  near  the  rim, 

Just  where  fresh-poured  youth's  empty  brilliants  swim. 

CRITIC. 

The  metal  down  below  looks  deuced  dim. 


A  SATIRE.  61 

FRIEND. 

So  young  folks  tell  us.     I  once  knew  a  youth 

Who,  ere  he  had  cut  his  second  wisdom  tooth, 

Vowed  that,  to  him,  life  no  allurement  gave, 

And  all  he  looked  for  was  a  good  deep  grave. 

Whether,  in  this  search,  he  was  disappointed. 

Or  his  pursuit  and  he  became  disjointed, 

I  cannot  at  this  moment  justly  tell. 

Time  crawled  on.     He  contrived  to  marry  well, 

And  had  six  children  before  one  could  spell ; 

As  thick  as  thieves  they  came.     A  fifteenth  cousin 

Died,  and  bequeathed  him  thousands  just  a  dozen. 

His  elder  brother  suddenly  expired 

At  Grand  Cairo,  whither  he'd  retired. 

With  virgin  Ahneh  charmed  and  the  chaste  bee-dance  ; 

To  all  his  friends  at  home  the  luckiest  riddance  ; 

But  most  to  my  friend,  who  to  his  estate 

Came,  and,  though  now  his  rent-roll  is  not  great, 

He  lives  at  what  folks  call  a  spanking  rate. 

He  hunts,  he  shoots  ;  he  colours  up  his  giUs 

With  claret,  and  fresh  air  on  chalky  hills  ; 

A  churchman  strict,  his  pew  he  roundly  fills  ; 

Sits  on  the  bench,  quite  constant  to  the  quorum. 

And  lectures  poachers  with  sublime  decorum. 

For  each  of  the  professions  training  are  sons. 

As  lawyers,  doctors,  soldiers,  sailors,  parsons. 


C2  THE  AGE; 

"When  all  are  well  established  we  shall  find 
They'll  doubtless  keep  in  order  half  mankind, 
They,  and  their  daddy  ;  and  you'll  hear  him  say 
He  thinks  the  world  grows  better  every  day  ; 
At  all  events,  a  good  thing,  in  its  way. 

CRITIC. 

The  ancient  poets,  men  of  thought  sublime, 
"Were  wights  of  some  experience  in  their  time, 
As  statesmen,  warriors,  travellers,  when  such  names 
Bore  a  substantial  sound,  akin  to  Fame's. 
To  travel,  thus,  at  one  time,  meant  to  go, 
Mostly  a-foot,  through  various  lands,  to  know 
The  climates,  customs,  races,  laws,  tongues,  creeds, 
Of  men,  their  histories  and  heroic  deeds. 
And  so  forth  ;  but  by  steam,  hotels,  and  rails. 
Our  travellers  now  tell  very  different  tales. 
Tln-ough  many  a  mile  of  cutting,  bank,  and  tunnel, 
They  simply  pass  like  smoke  blown  through  a  funnel. 

AUTIIOH. 

The  truth  is,  what  we  need  or  care  to  know 

Is  booked,  already,  on  such  topics  ;  so 

In  learning,  too,  the  difference  that  obtains 

Between  times  passed  and  present  forms  our  gains. 

What  took  mat  u rest  years  in  ages  passed 

Is  learned  by  brats  in  ragged  schools  at  last. 


A  SATIRE.  g3 

At  ten  years  old  a  crossing  sweeper's  daughter, 

Knows  more  than  Anaxagoras  could  have  taught  her 

Through  a  curriculum  of  seventy  years, 

In  figures,  facts,  and  physics,  as  appears 

From  glancing  at  our  class-books  ;  there  the  sages 

Must  aU  play  school-fags  to  these  later  ages. 

FRIEXD. 

More  crammed  with  facts,  I  must  confess  we  seem, 
But  as  to  truths,  in  that  they're  still  supreme. 
Truths  philosophic,  ethic,  would  you  seek. 
You'll  find  them  snug  witliui  their  native  Greek. 

CRITIC. 

Ah !  "  as  to  truths,"  if  only  truths  you  speak, 
Your  mouth  you'll  open  once  (we  know)  a  week. 


Fondly  presumptuous,  I  still  wish  to  hear 
Your  judgment. 


Tempt  him  not.     Thy  fate  I  fear, 
Oh !  ah !  oh  ! 

CRITIC. 

Pause!  I'm  dreadfully  severe. 


64  THE   AGE; 

FRIEND. 

I'll  play  the  Chorus ;  and,  as  modern  Greeks 

Write,  when  a  murderous  mother,  maddemng,  speaks, 

Run  through  our  code  of  expletives  sublime. 

Oh  ?  Ah  !  Ai !  Ai !  with  neither  tune  nor  rh)Tne  ; 

"Whose  choriambics  choice  unhinge  our  jaws, 

Or  set  our  teeth  on  edge,  like  fihng  saws. 


The  Drake  I,  of  critics  !  In  these  veins, 
Which  revolutionary  rouge  distains, 
The  whole  force  lies  of  critical  campaigns ; 
So  wQe  to  you  young  bardlings  scant  of  brains  ! 

FRIEND. 

Oh,  Avoe !  Oh,  Dis  !  Oh,  Cerberus  !  shake  your  chains. 

CRITIC. 

In  this  ensanguined  ink-bottle  (don't  stagger), 

I  plunge  my  steel-pen,  that's  to  say,  my  dagger ; 

The  maddening  moment  comes,  or  soon  or  late, 

And  on  my  sanctum's  walls  I  write  their  fate 

Who  dare  provoke  the  war-cry,  all  may  see, 

"  ExiNANiTE,"  blazoned  fair  and  free. 

As  challenge  to  all  minstrel-knights  that  be 

So  crazed  as  to  contest  these  lists  with  me ; 

And  much  it  soothes  me,  glowering  round  the  room, 

On  many  a  rhymester's  dark  and  bloody  doom. 


A  SATIRE.  65 

FEIESD. 

Ai!  Ai! 

AUTHOR. 

The  Ogre  !  Cacus,  Sawney  Bean, 
Eed  handed  in  their  dens,  less  fierce  I  ween. 
Though  hardly  made  hilarious  by  the  view 
Of  justice,  as  administered  by  you, 
Yet,  after  all,  when  your  decree  is  passed. 
These  rhymes,  my  first,  may  likely  be  my  last. 

CRITIC. 

I  hope  they  may  be.     I'm  a  candid  man. 

ERIEND. 

That's  saying  the  severest  thing  you  can. 

CRITIC. 

Suppose  we  try  a  sortUegium,  eh  ? 

AUTHOR. 

As  hkely  to  be  fair  as  any  way. 

CRITIC. 

Songs,  satires,  odes,  I  see ;  but,  help  me  Jove  ! 
I  scarcely  see  a  syllable  of  love. 

AUTHOR. 

'Tis  stale ;  for  all  have  loved ;  and  who  regards 
What  levery  sumph  can  boast  ?     Too  much  like  cards, 


66  THE   AGE; 

Love  levels  down  all  intellects  at  once, 
The  satiu'nalia  of  the  fop  and  dunce. 


Whist  is  a  test  of  foresight ;  neither  shall  you 
Beggar-my-neighbour,  grand  game  !  undervalue  ; 
The  same  on  larger  scale  the  world  still  plays, 
And  loses  at,  and  wins  at,  all  its  days. 


But  love  !  (blaspheme  not)  spurns  all  mean  control, 

The  most  ethereal  passion  of  the  soul, 

The  highest  of  the  billows  ever  stealing 

Across  the  restless  depths  of  human  feehng, 

And  if,  at  youth's  full  tide,  on  hostile  shore. 

It  dash  the  gallant  heart,  the  heart's  glad  course  is  o'er. 

And  so  your  sight — for  bards  profess  to  watch 

The  tides  of  their  own  souls,  could  never  catch 

Love's  bounding  billow  and  its  blinding  spray, 

Dazzling  and  dancing  on  its  homeward  way  ? 

AUTHOR. 

What  if  I  say.  No? 

CRITIC. 

Go,  then,  recreant  elf ! 
A  man,  a  poet,  self  absorbed  in  self; 


A  SATIKE.  67 

A  monster !     You  write !     Pray,  sir,  can  you  fly  ? 

For  love's  tlie  alphabet  of  poesy  ; 

A  heavenly  instinct  most  to  life  allied. 

The  source  and  end  of  nature  sanctified. 

The  wretch  who  ne'er  hath  studied  in  Love's  school, 

Stands  but  one  grade  above  the  babe  or  fool ; 

One  fit  of  love  instructs  us  more  in  life, 

Than  fifty  years  of  selfishness  or  strife ; 

To  all  more  manly  energy  imparts. 

Expands,  exalts,  and  purifies  our  hearts. 

AU  that  we  learn  of  good  we  learn  in  youth. 

When  passion's  heat  is  pure,  when  love  is  truth  ; 

When— 

FRIEND. 

I  beg  pardon  ;  did  you  name  the  day  ? 

AUTHOR.    . 

It  quite  escaped  his  memory,  I  dare  say. 
Pray,  tell  us,  then,  what  quarter  of  the  moon 
Such  things  occur  in.     'Twere  a  general  boon. 

FRIEND. 

But  just  because  he's  wanted,  he  can't  do  it. 


I've  stated  my  opinion.     I  stick  to  it. 

Wlio  lives  in  love  doth  live  in  part  with  Heaven ; 

'Twixt  here  and  there,  the  golden  link  that's  given. 


g3  THE  AGE; 

To  mortal  eye,  of  that  stupendous  chain 
Which  doth  the  living  universe  maintain. 


AUTHOR. 

Whatever  use  a  lover  is  in  art. 

And  we  are  all  tender  of  a  tender  part, 

I  hold  it  for  a  fact  that's  undeniable, 

Lovers  to  ridicule  are  sadly  liable. 

Consider  just  the  "  work  done  "  of  a  lover ; 

Sighing  for  what,  alack  !  one  can't  discover  ; 

In  doleful  verse  attempting  to  portray 

The  hopes,  fears,  pains  which  rack  him  night  and  day  ; 

Whining  and  moody,  lonely,  absent,  sad. 

Distracted,  sudden,  purposeless,  or  mad  ; 

Truly  a  more  than  second-sight  is  given 

To  one  who  sees  in  such  the  counterpart  of  Heaven. 

FlilEND. 

Come,  don't  be  too  severe.     Rest  you  content. 
If  this  I  grant,  to  strut  your  argument ; 
A  man  towards  fifty,  cured  of  kittenish  gambols. 
Thinks  of  hot  dinners  more  than  moonlight  rambles. 

CRITIC. 

But  stay,  too  soon  I  yielded  to  my  spleen ; 
Among  some  very  dry  goods  intervene 
A  batch  of  love-lays,  and  a  tender  "  scene." 
There  seems  not  raucli  connection  these  between. 


A  SATIRE.  69 

AUTHOR. 

Songs  deal  with  feelings,  mainly.     Oft,  events 
The  reader's  judgment  hints  or  supplements. 
The  Ultimate  connection  'tween  our  land 
And  neighbour  Europe,  by  electric  band, 
Shows  not  upon  the  surface,  understand. 

CRITIC. 

I  understand.     Such  nonsense,  as  it  means. 
May  serve  for  ultras,  or  for  sub-marines  ; 
Your  regular  "  salts  "  are  not  such  vivid  greens. 
These  lyrics,  if  I  take  you,  form  a  riddle, 
Minus  the  wires  that  go  across  the  middle  ? 

AUTHOR. 

Therefore,  not  wire-drawn. 

CRITIC. 

Oh,  you  are  deadly  funny, 
And  might  "  go,"  but  you've  neither  "  mare  "  nor  "  money." 

AUTHOR. 

Suppose  I  read  a  few  lines  ? 

FRIEND. 

Well,  proceed. 

CRITIC. 

Stop  ;  spare  us  that  infliction.     Let  me  read. 


70  THE  AGE; 

A  bard's  "  intoning  "  is  so  truly  odd  ; 
Of  all  the  heroes  of  the  land  of  Nod, 
Commend  me  most  to  Jubal,  drowsy  sire 
Of  mad  musician's  harp  and  poet's  lyre. 

FRIEXD. 

"When  song  I  read  I  choose  to  loll  at  ease, 
And  blow  my  rainbow  bubbles  as  I  please, 
From  creamy  vellum,  printed  fair  and  large,  in 
Such  memorable  vacancy  of  margin. 
As  brings  some  compensation  to  the  mind 
For  inability  aught  else  to  find. 

CRITIC. 

Whene'er  I  open  a  poetic  scroll 
A  serio-comic  wonder  fills  my  soul ; 
I've  such  sensations,  doubtless,  as  a  swimmer 
Feels,  when  for  ocean's  under-billowy  glimmer 
He  changes  daylight,  tumbling  head  first  down, 
And  thinking  the  first  moment  dive  and  drown 
Much  like,  till  he  recovers  from  his  blunder 
Yet  wonders  all  the  while  he  still  can  wonder 
Whether  he  be  above  the  earth  or  under. 
The  whole  from  public  nature  strikes  so  far ; 
The  tone  of  thought  rings  with  such  crazy  jar  ; 
The  scene,  too,  so  unlike  this  chequered  sphere 
We  plumeless  bipeds  pad  about  on  here. 


A  SATIRE.  71 

AUTHOE. 

Your  charge  against  us  proves  that  we  succeed, 

Or  partially,  at  least,  in  what  you  read. 

To  metaphysics  infinites  belong ; 

Grand  and  indefinite  the  sphere  of  song. 

And  if  within  this  twilight  world  of  verse. 

Your  head  you  duck,  you  are  still,  I  hope,  no  worse  ? 

CEITIC. 

Well,  but  these  songs  are  such  weak,  childish  things. 
They  seem  to  suit  the  age  of  bats  and  slings, 
Tops,  max-bles ;  or  a  little  later,  may  be  ; 
But  la  !  one's  sick  to  see  a  whiskered  baby. 

,  AUTHOR. 

I  never  met  a  man  who  proved  to  be 
A  flawless  mass  of  pure  consistency. 

FRIEJO). 

You  never  did  ?     I  met  one  once,  and  he 

Born  deaf  and  dumb,  was  much  too  blind  to  see. 

AUTHOE. 

But  odd  opinions  crop  out  here  and  there. 
Which  show  incongruous  with  the  greater  share. 
But — case  in  point — the  world  runs  so  contrarious, 
Men's  views  and  whims  are  oft  so  widely  various, 


72  THE  AGE; 

One  knows  not  what  to  judge  ;  I  thought  you  were, 
From  what  you  said,  a  gross  idolater 
Of  Love. 

FRIEND. 

Wliose  love  is  of  the  truest  sort 
Says  nothing,  or  says  something  plaguy  short. 
What  we  object  to  is  the  undue  prominence, 
In  modern  song,  and  almost  total  dominance 
Of  '•'  woman's  love,"  which  but  an  episode  is 
In  men's  lives,  who  are  not  the  sex's  toadies. 

CRITIC. 

Here  Burns  and  Byron  led  the  way,  and  this  is 
"Why  poets  deify  their  little  misses, 
"Who  doubtless  are  to  them  the  incarnation 
Of  comprehensive  and  profound  temptation. 
Deep  read  in  writers  of  our  modern  verse, 
Living  and  dead,  whose  names  I'll  not  rehearse, 
Follow  your  leader  each  one  cries  till  hoarse, 
Without  reflecting  whither  tends  their  course. 

FRIKND. 

Continual  carping  only  tends  to  tedium  ; 

Extremes  themselves  are  right  viewed  from  a  medium. 

A  bard,  of  love,  till  twenty-five  may  sing, 

But  let  him  then  choose  out  another  string. 


A  SATIRE.  73 


CRITIC. 

Some  of  the  choicest  love-tales  ever  told 
Were  born  of  brains  mature  and  hearts  full  old. 


He,  when  mature,  reviews  the  whole  of  life, 

Its  powers  and  aims,  with  cares,  with  duties  rife  ; 

Its  joys,  its  griefs,  its  inward  wearing  strife  ; 

Its  aspirations,  obligations,  needs  ; 

And  weighs,  severe,  man's  dues  against  his  deeds  ; 

Unmasks  the  interior  tyrants  of  the  heart, 

And  purges  passion  of  its  grosser  part ; 

But  if,  in  ripened  years,  he  still  continue 

With  all  love's  luscious  clatter  still  to  din  you, 

It  were  enough  to  set — the  thing's  past  bearing — 

His  Grace,  the  Primate  of  all  England,  swearing. 

Had  I  my  will,  indeed,  of  grief  I'd  rid  you  all ; 

For  I'm  a  most  prosaic  individual ; 

I'd  give  you  the  congenial  occupation 

Of  scaring  crows,  and  "  tenting  "  vegetation. 

AUTHOR. 

Poor  Nature's  inconsistent.     Here  she  sows 
Life  seeds  for  all ;  friends  vegetive,  and  foes  ; 
Poison  for  these  ;  there,  remedies  for  those  ; 
Elaborates  here  some  microscopic  life  ; 
There  slays  whole  hosts  in  internecine  strife. 


74:  THE   AGE; 

FBIEND. 

Fighting,  like  smoking,  is  a  world-wide  habit ; 
If  you  a  warren  watch  you'll  spy  a  rabbit ; 
And,  any  time  you  _  glance  across  the  world, 
You'll  somewhere  see  two  bloody  flags  unfurled. 
Dame  Nature,  doubtless,  deems  it  for  their  good 
Her  folks  should  now  and  then  be  all  let  blood  ; 
And  so  while  leech  and  patient  grin  or  jar, 
Phlebotomizes  all  by  one  stroke — war. 

AUTHOR. 

Wliatever  Nature  orders  still  is  just, 

Do  it,  enjoy  it,  suffer  it,  we  must. 

Now  bards  of  Nature  treat,  but  treat  with  art ; 

Impowered  to  raise  at  times  the  inferior  part, 

They  only  can  unlock  man's  wondrous  heart ; 

Though  intricate  the  wards,  their  master  key 

Moves  smoothly  through  divine  machinery. 

CKITIC. 

We  better  know  what  bards  assume  to  do. 

AUTHOR. 

Whatever  they  assume's  in  some  sense  true. 

CRITIC, 

To  suffer  in  mind,  body,  or  estate, 

Or  all  the  three  at  once,  is  no  rare  fate, 

But  these,  to  bards,  are  woes  of  trifling  weight. 


A  SATIRE.  75 

Who  fainting  as  a  fine  art  know,  and  can  turn 

Into  their  own  breasts  their  own  bull's-eye  lantern. 

As  life-school  models,  philosophic  misses, 

Superior  to  their  sex's  prejudices, 

Nude  as  a  needle,  attitudinize  ; 

So  these  for  our  behoof  will  agonize ; 

Yea,  like  a  zoophyte,  turn  inside  out 

Their  very  hearts,  to  illustrate  a  doubt. 

Who  studies  aught  with  persevering  skill, 

His  choice  effects  can  reproduce  at  will. 

A  practised  necromancer,  such  as  you, 

Can  raise  a  ghost  whene'er  it  suits  to  do. 

So  all  these  love-affairs  one  just  regards 

As  so  much  stock  in  trade  of  bankrupt  bards, 

Whose  books  are  never  open  to  inspection 

Till  roguery  is  certain  of  detection. 

AUTHOR 

I  never  loved,  nor  was  loved  ;  that  is  truth ; 
But  who  to  woman  has  not  sworn  forsooth  ? 

FRIEND. 

Well,  that's  a  question  questionably  fit ; 
The  Court  reserves  the  point ;  considers  it. 

ADTHOK. 

You  smile.     'Tis  true  ;  all  feeling  may  be  feigned, 
As  well  forestalled  or  mimicked  as  restrained ; 


76  THE   AGE; 

Consider  well  yourself:  the  unwary  heart 
With  will  and  wile  plays  but  a  tliird-rate  part. 

CRITIC. 

To  libel  human  nature  is  not  fit, 
You  show,  methinks,  more  insolence  than  wit. 
Though  truth  were  held  a  libel,  (wisely,  too, 
As  dolts  may  deem,)  all  hbels  ai'e  not  true. 

FRIEND. 

Dissimulation,  one  may  safely  say, 
Of  all  arts,  dates  from  the  most  distant  day. 
The  first  thing  Adam  did,  by  way  of  task, 
"When  he  left  Eden,  was  to  make  a  mask. 
Of  worldly  goods  he  set  but  scanty  store 
True,  he'd  a  httle  baggage.  Eve  no  more ; 
But  in  her  centred  every  contrariety ; 
His  friend,  his  foe,  his  wife,  and  his  society ; 
She  was  his  subject,  rebel,  liege,  and  equal. 
And  played  so  various  parts  that  in  the  sequel 
She  showed  as  one  too  many  for  one  man. 
Till  Adam  pitched  upon  the  aforesaid  plan, 
A  fact  which  does  him  honour  if  aught  can ; 
Whereby  he  grew,  though  each  an  early  riser, 
Almost  a  match  for  her,  and  her  adviser. 


A  SATIRE.  77 

CRITIC. 

But  if,  as  some  have  said,  at  sundry  times, 
Men  are  all  actors,  hypocrites  and  mimes, 
None  prove  it  more  than  poets  in  their  rhymes. 
Gods !  how  they  rage,  rejoice,  despair,  and  laugli! 
The  cups  of  woe  and  wrath  by  turns  they  quaff; 
By  turns  they  whimper,  simper,  madden,  smile. 
Now  vow  revenge,  now  pardon ;  all  the  while 
Safe  in  their  snuggery  and  their  easy  chair, 
The  bland  cigar  perfumes  the  morning  air ; 
At  eve  they  sip  their  claret  or  their  port, 
Or  at  an  opera  lounge  their  hour ;  in  short, 
Unharmed  they  Uve  and  harmless,  as  a  star 
From  strife  and  storm  unspeakably  far,  far ! 
These  are  the  men,  we  are  told,  of  judgment  sound. 
Who  never  see  less  than  life's  perfect  round. 


It's  plain  to  see  that  you  have  been  led  astray 
By  writers  of  a  false  and  foolish  day, 
When  everything  was  so  affected,  strained. 
In  fact,  factitious,  that  no  truth  remained, 
Nor  manliness  in  practice ;  that  we  hope 
All  buried  with  the  day  and  school  of  Pope. 
A  poet  in  these  days  is  not  a  man 
Self-severed  from  his  kind  as  far  as  can 


78  THE  AGE; 

Be,  lest  his  fine-toned  sympathies  should  suffer 
By  contact  with  the  sturdier  mass  and  rougher. 
As  Cowper  sensitive,  as  Johnson  sage, 
He  sums  the  moral  judgment  of  his  age. 
Exemption  from  the  turmoil  of  the  times, 
(K  fortune  grant  him  or  the  luck  of  rhymes,) 
His  feeling  rarefies,  his  soul  sublimes ; 
But  with  all  honest  labourers  him  we  find 
Conspiring  for  the  weal  of  human  kind, 
Unstarred,  uncrossed,  uneagled  peers  of  mind. 

CRITIC. 

Still,  "Wordsworth  and  B^ranger  both  have  shown 
That  bards,  like  bears,  are  better  let  alone. 


The  world  wags  now  at  such  a  precious  pace. 
It's  nothing  but  Newmarket.     Life's  a  race, 
No  journey  now ;  no  pilgrimage  ;  no  ease ; 
It's  handicaps  and  heats  and  T.  Y.  C's., 
From  day  to  day ;  and  how  keep  up  with  these 
Can  poor  folk,  such  as  poets  in  their  attics, 
Confounds,  I  do  confess,  my  mathematics. 

CRITIC. 

Quitting  all  this — it  is  a  high  offence 
To  level  poetry  with  common  sense. 


A   SATIRE.  79 

'Tis  hers  to  exaggerate  and  mystify ; 
To  clothe  in  light  each  dark  propensity, 
And  sci'een  unsightly  features  of  the  mind 
Like  ivy  over  blocked  up  windows  twined. 

AUTHOE. 

Not  so.     'Tis  false.     Her  end  is  to  direct 

The  judgment,  and  inform  the  intellect ; 

To  lift  them  up,  to  brighten,  to  refine  ; 

The  soul  to  soothe,  and  teach  it  to  resign 

Its  careful  joys,  bequeathing  earth  to  eailh, 

And  seek  with  her  for  what  alone  is  worth, 

The  spirit's  splendid  calm  which  hath  in  Heaven  its  birth. 

CRITIC. 

But  poesie  with  care  and  woe  is  rife. 

The  stirrer,  lover,  chi-onicler  of  strife ; 

Her  eye  is  stern  and  fiery,  hot  her  breath ; 

She,  from  the  first,  hath  raved  of  rapine  and  of  death ; 

From  Homer  down  to  Scott 

FBIEHD. 

Don't  go  so  far 
Down,  as  where  A.  and  Z.,  and  others  are, 
Or  you'll  not  up  again. 

CEITIC. 

She  hves  on  war, 
And  yokes  the  fellest  passions  to  her  car ; 


80  THE  AGE; 

Cheers,  lashes,  goads  them  on  their  tempest  course ; 
And  from  their  champing,  reek,  and  foam,  comes  verse. 
And  are  not  natural  passions  badly  strong  ? 
Need  they  be  swollen  by  fierce  or  wanton  song  ? 

AUTHOR. 

All  good  is  liable  to  be  abused ; 

But  poesie  in  passion  stands  excused. 

Be  this  distinctly,  wholly  understood, 

Men  must  be  agitated  for  their  good ; 

Grapes  must  be  trodden  first,  and  grain  be  ground, 

Ere  wine  be  looked  for,  or  ere  bread  be  found. 

Though  some  opinions  we  are  apt  to  shy  at, 

Opinion  hurts  not  truth,  though  it  run  riot ; 

It's  error  always  begs  and  prays  for  quiet 

And  aught  that  men  do  glorious  or  right, 

They  do  with  heart,  with  ardour,  and  with  might. 

'Tis  not  the  dull,  dry,  calculated  facts 

Which  stiff  geometry  from  squares  exacts, 

That  marks  the  progress  of  the  human  mind. 

Or  renders  man  more  noble,  more  refined ; 

The  demi-gods  of  these  things  nothing  knew ; 

IS^or  sage,  nor  hero  recked  if  false  or  true. 

Are  our  souls  whiter,  now,  for  gravitation  r 

Do  asymptotes  assist  the  soul's  salvation  ? 

Are  cube  roots  paradisal  vegetation  ? 


A  SATIRE.  81 

How  may  it  morally  advantage  us, 

Surd,  sine,  co-sine,  and  tangent  to  discuss, 

Or  sum  the  diflferential  calculus  ? 

But  what  we  learn  from  him  the  French  call  Shakspere, 

Milton,  or  any  other  learned  tax-payer 

Of  ancient  times  or  modern,  once  impressed, 

Rules  the  broad  empire  of  man's  holy  breast. 

Look  back  through  all  the  ages  earth  hath  known. 

And  half  the  glory,  poets,  is  your  own  ; 

High  o'er  all  kings  and  heroes  take  your  throne. 

The  love  of  gold,  power,  honour,  native  land, 

Exerts,  at  times,  o'er  men  severe  command. 

Persuasion,  for  a  brief  but  splendid  day. 

Over  the  restless  crowd  may  boast  her  sway, 

But  Poesie  can  rule  the  world  for  aye  ; 

For  ever  rule,  dictatress  of  the  mind. 

The  manners,  and  the  morals  of  mankind  ! 


True  rhetoric  rather,  nobly  used,  becomes 
Man's  grandest  art,  his  mental  glories  sums. 
Where  is  the  composition  you  can  count, 
Like  worthy  with  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  ? 
But  waiving  this,  and  narrowing  down  our  sight ; 
The  just  conviction  of  some  popular  right, 
Refused  by  meanness  in  the  shape  of  might ; 

6 


32  THE  AGE; 

The  stern  avowal  of  some  general  claim, 

"Which  makes  the  speaker's  tongue  a  tongue  of  Harae ; 

The  words  of  wisdom  which  the  will  defies, 

Converting  crowds,  who,  learned  in  life's  lies, 

And  losing  for  a  moment,  by  surprise, 

Conceit  of  knowledge,  grow  by  instinct  wise  ; 

The  eloquent  eye,  the  white  and  winning  hand, 

Where  is  the  brute  that  listeth  to  withstand  ? 


AUTHOR. 

But  bards  a  dearer  interest  command. 
We  take  them  to  our  bosom  at  all  times ; 
They  serve  us  in  all  junctures ;  in  all  climes 
They  please  the  same ;  in  their  oracular  rhymes 
We  fate  consult ;  they  always  speak  when  needed  ; 
They  can't  become  less  true,  nor  superseded. 
Like  books  of  facts  which  each  successive  year, 
New  science  makes  contemptible  appear ; 
Grow,  on  the  contrary,  as  we  grow,  they. 
And  seem  more  grand  and  lovely  every  day ; 
More  true  the  more  of  human  life  we  know. 
The  best  and  safest  of  all  guides  below ; 
Because,  confined  to  universal  charity. 
They  must  please  God : — 'tis  their  peculiarity. 


A  SATIRE.  83 

ClilTIC. 

Unless  a  poet  gives  us  something  new, 
Improves  the  mass,  or  beautifies  the  true, 
'Tvvere  better  far  to  fling  his  pen  and  ink, 
One  on  the  fire,  the  other  down  the  sink. 

FRIEND. 

Poets  are  makers ;  men  who  make  from  mind. 

From  nature,  from  their  hearts  and  ours  combined ; 

From  vai'ious  knowledge  and  far-travelled  view. 

Draw  what  is  great  and  beauteous,  just  and  true. 

A  bard  must  have  a  pre-creative  mind  ; 

'Tis  he  hath  power  to  loose  the  world,  and  bind. 

An  eye  of  all  imaginative  might ; 

An  eagle's  by  the  day,  a  lynx'  by  night ; 

His  art  he  first  must  study,  soon  and  late, 

If  he  the  world  would  pleasure,  or  create 

Some  work  of  large  design,  and  aim  mature ; 

Must  will  both  to  achieve,  and  to  endure 

In  peace  his  own  conception,  which  shall  come 

His  soul  to  dommate,  like  the  sacred  dome 

Which  crowns  our  London  or  the  orb  of  Rome. 

Where'er  a  difficulty's  to  be  met. 

The  pure  stem  soul  will  there  its  triumph  get ; 

A  mark  as  far  as  can  be  from  the  index 

Of  that  success  with  which  her  votaries  Sin  decks. 


84  THE  AGE; 

Do  thou,  0  bard !  heed  nothing  but  thy  task ; 

Art  shall  her  all  bestow,  and  more  than  thou  shalt  ask, 

Give  Nature,  if  thou  wisely  cast  thy  fate 

Among  earth's  great  ones  ;  at  the  least  be  great. 

The  worlds  of  Heaven  prepared  for  thee  appear ; 

Use  all  thy  Maker  makes,  but  use  in  fear ; 

Pray  ere  thou  writ'st,  and  after  wi'iting,  praise ; 

That  God  may  bless  and  men  may  mind  thy  lays ; 

And  m  thy  high  and  holy  poet-calling, 

God  keep  thy  heart  from  faiUng,  feet  from  falling. 

CRITIC. 

Yet  poesy  has  not  that  wide  effect 
Ul)on  the  general  mind  one  might  expect. 
For  one  who  knows  the  minimum  of  verse, 
Hundreds  you  find  of  music's  worshippers. 


Simply  because  that  asks  an  act  of  thought, 
While  this  mth  sentiment  at  best  is  fraught. 

CEITIC. 

Still  Triton  counts  his  readers  by  the  thousand. 
Though  rarely  saith  he  ought  the  soul  to  rouse,  and 
Dilate ;  with  pathos  touch,  or  with  wit  please ; 
Nothing  but  monstrous  mediocrities. 


A   SATIRE.  §5 

When  animated,  tliink  on  Fourier's  notion 
Of  coasting  round  a  butter-milky  ocean, 
Or  sea  of  ginger-beer  in  mild  commotion. 

AUTHOR. 

This  to  explain  implies  the  vast  defence, 

And  needless,  of  a  general  Providence, 

In  whose  wise  ordinations  it  is  found. 

To  serve  the  most,  the  tasteless  must  abound  ; 

Bread,  rice,  potatoes,  suit  us  on  that  gi'ound. 

Our  common  life  is  not  composed  of  thought 

Supremely  sacred,  nor  with  rapture  fraught ; 

Time  amid  trivial  thoughts  men  mamly  pass  ; 

So,  usual  sense  and  feeling  in  the  mass, 

Like  water,  seek  the  level  of  their  class. 

But  poetry  is  more  than  common  sense. 

Though  with  that  basis  it  can  scarce  dispense ; 

And  rather  apt,  like  intellectual  wine, 

The  heart  to  open  and  the  wit  refine. 

Weak,  ignorant  writers  are,  who  seem  to  think 

Their  every  utterance  worthy  golden  ink ; 

Hence  heaps  of  ponderous  tomes  filled  up,  we  find, 

With  common  places  of  the  common  mind ; 

And  hence  a  mass  of  trivial  things,  if  true, 

Penned  with  minuteness  but  to  value  due ; 

Like  photographs  of  some  old  cap  or  shoe. 


86   "  THE   AGE; 

Pure,  simple,  and  select  those  thoughts  should  be 

Onlj,  an  author  gives  us  leave  to  see ; 

For  art  on  just  and  provident  choice  is  based ; 

In  indiscriminate  nature  is  no  taste. 

And  now  that  average  authors  are  so  numerous, 

In  every  class,  from  lachrymose  to  humorous. 

The  greater  need  of  that  hydz-aulic  pressure 

By  which  true  ta-ste  will  all  productions  measure. 

Merit  is  none  in  blackening  so  much  paper ; 

The  spirit  wants  condensing  from  the  vapour. 

Did  writers  of  an  endless  comic  serial 

But  deign  to  glance  at  sister  arts  material, 

They  there  would  samples  find  of  power  compress'd, 

Which  might  some  public  benefit  suggest, 

Before  the  thirtieth  moon  ;  0,  moon  of  rest ! 

For  what  the  atmosphere  to  earth  imparts. 

That  poesie  appears  to  other  arts, 

Embracing,  colouring,  vivifying  all. 

Though  less  constrained  than  these,  and  less  conventional. 

So  when  in  clay  we  fire  and  grandeur  see. 

And  when  in  colours  power  and  purity, 

Of  each  the  better  part  is  poesie. 

FRIEND. 

The  painter's  gift  hath  rarely  mightier  been 
Than  to  show  Nature  in  some  transient  scene 
External,  passive ;  or  the  imagined  mien 


A   SATIRE.  87 

Of  saint  and  hero  ;  but  the  bard  must  deal 

With  truths,  powers,  passions,  all  men  inly  feel, 

And,  under  pain  of  death,  he  must  reveal ; 

Reveal,  though  few  conceive  the  truths  he  knows, 

And  only  doth  to  eyes  unmasked  disclose. 

Nor,  like  the  sculptor,  can  the  poet  take 

One  winged  moment,  and  immortal  make 

A  life's  conceptions,  while  his  quickening  hand 

Moulds  the  clay  all  but  human  ;  nor  command 

Fi'om  out  the  abyss  of  thought,  completely  planned. 

Some  soul-absorbing  symbol,  lofty,  lone, 

Christ  on  his  cross,  or  Jove  upon  his  throne. 

His  vaster  work  must  vividly  display 

Faith,  truth,  and  interest  in  the  passing  day ; 

Deeds  past  and  future  in  his  copious  mind, 

Classic,  with  cyclopaidic  lore  combined. 

Science,  and  knowledge  of  man's  heart  and  mind. 

CRITIC. 

Much  you  aver  is  true.     An  active  sage 

The  bard  both  is,  and  mirror  of  his  age, 

Or  he'll  not  much  our  sympathies  engage. 

Mere  ponderers  by  themselves  must  still  be  classed  : 

Poor  W.  went  on  maundering  to  the  last. 

Railing  at  railways  ;  never  knew  the  pleasure 

Of  just  a  mile  a  minute,  statute  measure. 


88  THE  AGE; 

I  always  ride  express  ;  the  fastest  rate 
Safest  I  find ;  for,  grant  a  tete-a-tete 
With  any  obstacle  (stray  bull  or  heifer 
Is  swept  off  like  a  May-bug  by  a  zephyr), 
Perhaps  (who  knows  ?)  you'll  light  on,  in  the  latter 
The  immateriaUty  of  matter. 


There's  a  grand  secret  for  us,  quite  in  keeping 

"With  those  discoveries  we  ai*e  daily  reaping 

Out  of  the  fields  of  science  ;  though  one  trouble 

Is,  that  there's  little  left  for  us  but  stubble. 

"VVe  load  the  lazy  lightnings  with  our  messages, 

But  still  the  world  is  full  of  serious  presages  ; 

In  spite  of  all  cosmetics  still  distress  ages  ; 

In  spite  of  eighteen  ages,  Christianity, — 

Though  now  the  moulds  of  race  are  broken  up, 

And  nations  poured  into  each  other's  cup, — 

Hath  failed  to  check  war's  bloody  inhumanity  ; 

By  reason  not  of  its  own  imperfection, 

But  clipped  according  to  our  predilection. 

These  learn  to  love,  those  love  to  learn  a  lie ; 

And  preachers  preach  their  own  apostasy. 

Still  Christian  states  compete  in  manufacture, 

With  what  shall  cause  man's  frame  the  deadliest  fracture. 


A   SATIRE.  89 

Earth's  monarchs,  too,  their  most  profound  regard  pay, 

To  shot,  and  shell,  and  bomb,  and  other  hard  pay ; 

Yea,  foster  most  the  inhuman  arts  that  be 

To  homicide  most  servant : — not  so  he. 

Who  all  the  glories  of  two  crowns  was  mute  on. 

But  rather  spoke  of  Leibnitz  and  of  Newton. 


AUTHOB. 

Suppose  friend  Broadbrim  made  some  grand  discovery, 

Whereby  the  world  might  grow  one  vast  drab  dovery ; 

Some  universal  solvent  of  disputes, 

Wars,  disagreements,  strifes,  and  legal  suits  ; 

And  to  announce  the  same  should  think  advisable. 

Through  any  medium  (not,  of  course,  excisable)  ; 

How  many  auditors,  or  applicants. 

Called  Christian — CathoHcs,  or  Protestants, — 

Would  he  have,  guess  ?  I  bet  a  four-nine  hat, 

He  polls  no  more  than  would  go  under  that. 

But  if  some  Priace  should  cursorily  say. 

He's  plans  he  meant  to  prove,  and  thought  would  pay  ; 

Whereby  he  could,  at  telescopic  distance, 

Annihilate  a  peaceful  town's  existence ; 

To  share  his  plans,  and  eager  to  unfold  them. 

Would  flock  such  numbers,  Hyde  Park  could  not  hold  them. 


90  THE  AGE; 

FKIEND. 

And  having  thus  belied  our  faith,  and  made 
With  impious  hypocrisy,  a  trade, 
As  never  heathen  did,  of  sheer  hostility. 
And  slain  men  to  the  crown  of  our  ability  ; 
Our  brethren  in  the  flesh,  whose  souls  we  feign 
To  groan  and  yearn  over  with  pious  pain ; 
"We  send  an  honest  dullard,  hired  to  blurt 
Some  thundering  text  he  knows  but  to  pervert, 
Or  mock  compassion  for  his  hearers'  hurt ; 
And  so  contrast  our  theory  and  practice, 
That  nothing  baser  than  a  Christian's  act  is, 
Except  his  word,  say  Pagans  ;  and  the  fact  is. 
In  spite  of  being  ground  in  Logic,  now, 
Two  thousand  years  two  hundred,  you'll  allow, 
They  are  so  afraid  of  their  own  reasoning,  men 
Will  argue  up  to  nine,  but  not  to  ten, — 
There  they  begin  the  unfinished  scale  again ; 
Such  dreadful  treatment  they  from  Truth  expect, 
They  never  land,  for  fear  of  being  wrecked  ; 
Because  the  sun  a  shadow  casts,  say  they, 
How  preferable  darkness  seems  to  day  ! 
A  merciful  completeness  is  to  them, 
The  only  view  of  God's  scheme  all  condemn. 
The  only  thought  that  causes  in  the  mind 
Of  every  separate  thorn-backed  sect  we  find. 


A  SATIRE.  91 

One  doubt  as  to  the  power  which  rules  mankind, 

On  wisest,  kindest,  broadest  laws  combined, 

Is  this :  that  He  who  doth  to  all  diffuse 

A  sense  of  truth,  from  whom  all  power,  all  good  accrues, 

Should  just  o'erlook  their  own  peculiar  views ; 

Nor  hold  it  indispensable  the  world, 

For  their  success,  head  over  heels  be  hurled  ; 

Whose  views,  to  guide  that  world,  so  much  too  narrow, 

Scarce  qualify  the  fools  to  wheel  a  barrow. 

Misled  by  inconsistencies  like  these, 

To  Negroes  preach  the  priest-rid  Portuguese, 

Whom  Celling  souls  and  buying  bodies  please. 

So  IVIissionaries  moan  o'er  poor  Chinese, 

Our  favourite  and  most  intimate  enemies  ; 

To  whom  we  prove  our  godly  care  for  Sunday, 

By  "  slackening  shell "  from  Saturday  to  Monday, 

Burning  and  slaughtei-ing  all  the  week  but  one  day. 

New  York  sends  clergy  to  the  far  off  Brahmin, 

While  neighbour  Redskins,  by  war,  rum,  and  famine, 

From  poisoned  seed  produced,  in  thousands  die ; 

Too  near  to  move  the  holy  charity 

Which  acts  with  warmth  inversely  as  the  distance  ; 

So  kind  we  are  when  no  one  needs  assistance ; 

But  if  he  does,  why,  then,  it's  time — to  talk  ; 

If  bad,  he'll  die ;  if  well,  he'll  doubtless  walk. 


92  THE   AGE; 

Others  again,  less  buniing  to  make  knoAvn 
What  views  they  hate,  than  deify  their  own, 
Boast  Heaven's  adoption  of  their  own  opinion, 
And  justify  by  force  their  joint  dominion. 
These  may  be  right,  or  ^v^ong,  or  blessed,  or  damned. 
But  only  let  the  gates  of  Heaven  be  slammed 
On  such  and  such,  their  near  or  distant  kinsmen. 
And  this  belief  who  loudest  bawls  most  wins  men. 
Be  sure,  ye  doleful  dupes  who  daily  dream 
That  God  will  save  the  world  by  rags  and  steam  ; 
That,  thwarted,  by  the  Devil,  of  His  end. 
And  forced  on  your  subscriptions  to  depend, 
He  leaves  the  unprotected  world  to  call, 
For  ghostly  succour  on  the  Excestrian  Hall ; 
That  inspiration  having  wholly  ceased, 
The  soul  on  tons  of  penny  tracts  may  feast, 
And  drain,  hke  Roman  Gemini,  from  tlie  latter- 
Call  Bigotry  a  she-wolf,  and  you  flatter — 
What  critics  style  "  much  valuable  matter ; " 
Who  think  in  Choctaw  types  salvation's  latent, 
And  Mercy  rubs  her  hands  o'er  each  new  patent ; 
Ye  flatterers  of  waste  paper,  which  the  Kaffirs 
Shoot  back  to  us  in  wadding,  jolly  laughers  ; 
O  rest  ye  sure,  that  in  His  careful  hand. 
Who  from  destruction  saves  a  grain  of  sand. 
Lie  safe  all  orbs,  all  souls,  He  formed  and  planned  ; 


A  SATIRE. 

Be  sure  the  heathen  hold  their  souls  from  God 
And  not  from  you.     Heaven  lies  not  in  your  nod 
To  treasurers,  when  suggesting  the  amount 
Of  your  donation  to  the  year's  account. 
Trade's  selfish  principle  religion  mocks  ; 
You  can't  invest  salvation  in  the  stocks ; 
Long  balance  sheets  and  quarterly  reports 
Small  joy  create,  I  fear,  in  heavenly  courts  ; 
•  Nor  would  the  world  of  grace  divine  he  fallow, 
But  for  the  cheers  of  Exeter's  Walhalla. 
Father  of  lights !  if  each  in  ignorance  still, 
"Would  grace  engross  against  Thy  general  will, 
Thou  know'st  that,  as  from  Thee  all  creatures  came, 
Though  for  our  wanderings  each  the  other  blame. 
All  seek,  all  love,  all  feel  Thee  theirs  the  same  ; 
Just  art  Thou  in  ordaining  what  is  fittest, 
All  wise  in  all  Thou  doest,  all  permittest ; 
The  nearest  they  to  Thy  paternal  soul 
Who  most  revere,  because  Thou  mad'st,  the  whole. 

AUTHOR. 

The  day  must  come  when  men  and  states  will  be 
Less  selfish,  more  impartial,  manly,  fi-ee. 
Considerate  and  consistent  than  we  are  ; — 
Who  own  a  weakness  for  unequal  war. 


93 


94  THE   AGE; 

But  piety  and  policy  agree 

About  as  much  as  law  and  equity. 

The  world  is  most  consistent  when  a  vford 

Is  scarce  required  to  prove  its  course  absurd ; 

Observe  the  fashions ;  note  a  popular  cry  ; 

You'll  wonder  at  men's  unanimity ; 

But  take  a  just  and  reasonable  view 

Of  other's  rights, — consistency,  adieu ! 

Has  any  one  the  right  to  hold  his  own 

Opinions  against  us,  more  potent  grown 

Lately  than  he  ?     No,  clearly  not,  not  one. 

Such  is  a  Liberal  faith  in  Tory  tone. 

Does  an  inferior  power  the  course  proposed 

Defer  a  moment  ?     Let  his  ports  be  closed  ! 

"What !  Does  he  argue  ?     "  Shell "  hira ;  there's  some  fun 

In  reasoning  with  the  logic  of  a  gun. 

Thus  one  may  hear  from  men  who  boast  to  be 

Pure  Liberals,  theoretic  tyranny 

More  gross  than  ever  called  down  despot's  doom, 

Or  stains  the  tale  of  Russia  or  of  Rome. 

Like  views  take  our  pugnacious  pietists. 

Who  preach  and  pray  with  both  their  doubled  fists. 

Nothing  is  hard  to  the  resolved  mind  ; 

Nor  easy  aught  to  one  of  wavering  kind. 

Impressed  with  the  utility  of  slaughter, 

As  herald  to  salvation  free  and  full. 


A   SATIRE.  95 

"We — military  saints  of  the  fii'st  water — 

By  virtue  of  our  mission  to  the  dull 

Heathen,  who  cannot,  or  who  will  not,  see 

That  state  of  holy  peace  and  charity, 

Which  we  declare  our  creed  to  cause  and  be ; 

Who  resolutions  pass,  postponing  votes 

To  save  men's  souls,  till  we  have  cut  their  throats ; 

Think,  if  on  levelhng  towns  to  their  foundations, 

The  wrecks  are  sown  with  pious  publications, 

Like  "  Come  to  Jesus,"  and  "  Why  will  ye  die  ?  " 

And  "  Turn  or  Burn,"  and  aU  that  canting  fry, 

We  may  at  once  illustrate  and  confer 

By  our  bombardments,  sacks,  and  conflagrations, 

The  benefits  of  "  the  comity  of  nations," 

And  our  own  mild  and  Cliristian  character  : 

But  this  is  rank  hypocrisy.     We  know. 

Whoever  gives  the  first  and  unjust* blow, 

Is  sponsor  for  all  ills  thenceforth  that  flow. 

To  strike  in  self-defence  is  only  brave  ; 

Who  suffers  insult  dubs  himself  a  slave. 

The  notion  of  a  conscientious  juggler 

Would  move  our  mirth,  and  of  a  pious  smuggler. 

Yet  act  those  very  parts  too  lately  we  did, 

Prescribing  opium  only  where  most  needed. 

And  urgently  requu'ed  by  certain  courts. 

Who  doubtless  viewed  it  as  the  best  of  sports, 


96  THE  AGE; 

To  see  their  people  dying  from  a  seed 

Of  deathliest  operation.     "We,  indeed, 

Grew,  sold,  and  gained  by  the  unholy  weed. 

But  that  says  nothing ;  and  beside  is  found, 

Such  premises  go  the  press  diurnal  round, 

The  reason  we  can  take  such  lofty  gi'ound. 

Insist  on  smuggling  or  declaring  war ; 

"What  else  are  we  such  rigid  Christians  for  ? 

And  if  we've  wronged,  we  flogged  them ;  "  what's  the  odds," 

They  pay  the  biU ;  we  charge  them  for  the  rods. 

In  this  way,  too,  we  justly  are  accused 

Of  "  pampering  "  the  Hindoos,  who,  merely  used 

To  their  own  government,  religion,  laws. 

And  customs,  lived  content  without  good  cause  ; 

Till  we,  resolved  upon  their  peace  and  good, 

Their  laws  and  lives  have  drowned  in  their  own  blood ; 

And  without  shred  of  title  tell  a  nation 

That  all  their  goods  are  ours  by  confiscation. 

Thus  into  pits  of  monstrous  sins  we  fall. 

And  may  with  mildness  pride  unchristian  call, 

For  Christian  honour  lives  by  honouring  all. 

England  ought  not  for  every  trivial  hurt 

To  ask  mankind  in  general  to  eat  dirt ; 

Nor  force  all  weaker  nations  to  reject 

Each  quality  required  for  self  respect. 


A  SATIRE.  97 

Should  one  offend,  we  might  consider  first, 
If  our  own  conduct  were  not  once  the  worst, 
And  fi-aud  and  rapine  be  not  justly  cursed ; 
Abase,  for  that,  our  pride  before  His  sight, 
And  so  humiliate  sin  by  doing  right ; 
Nor,  claiming  powers  reserved  to  the  Most  High, 
Vengeance  profanely  seek  to  justify. 
"We  might  admit  that  other  men  have  souls, 
And  stand  or  fall  to  God  as  He  controls  ; 
That  we  are  not  the  favourite  sole  of  Heaven, 
But  that  to  all,  with  life,  His  love  was  given. 
Assyria,  Egypt,  Persia,  Gra3cia,  Rome, 
By  aU  provoking,  brought  their  own  fate  home. 
But  because  ancient  empires  waxed  still  greater, 
By  grasping  sway,  we  think,  though  living  later, 
And  owning  a  more  perfect  rule  of  right, 
To  justify  ourselves  in  Truth's  despite, 
By  their  example  ;  blinding  our  own  eyes 
To  views  we  grant  in  theory  as  wise. 
But  hold  impracticable  for  the  reason, 
That  conscience  never  calls  at  the  right  season. 
We  know,  too,  eighty  years  ago,  the  war 
With  western  planters  waged,  how  popular  ! 
King,  Lords,  and  Commons,  strove  we  not  to  breed  'em 
All  possible  ills,  and  slay  their  newborn  freedom  ? 
7 


98  THE  AGE; 

And  don't  we  now,  ashamed  of  such  proceeding, 
Admit  we  suffered  righteously  the  hleeding 
We  got  at  Lexington  and  other  places. 
And  bolt  our  ill-luck  with  a  few  grimaces 
As  may  be ;  and  would  you  now  tell  a  Yankee 
That  we  were  justified  in —  ? 

CRITIC. 

I  ?     No,  thank  ye. 

FRIEND. 

The  singular  consistency,  of  course. 

Our  conduct  shows,  proceeds  but  from  the  force 

Of  our  convictions,  that  no  other  state 

Has  gumption  for  itself  to  legislate. 

And  British  wiseacres  still  gape  with  wonder. 

Why  France,  who's  made  so  many  a  mortal  blunder, 

Don't  choose  again  to  rend  herself  asunder ; 

How,  without  endless  editorial  gabble 

The  Chambers  to  advise  with  club-house  babble, 

A  democratic  empire  can  pursue 

A  policy  foreseeing,  fixed  and  true  ; 

Or  government  can  carry  on  its  business, 

And  its  head  show  no  fatal  sign  of  dizziness ; 

Most,  how  a  system,  so  ill  fortified. 

As  but  to  have  the  people  on  its  side. 


A  SATIRE.  99 

The  army,  and  the  clergy,  does  not  fade 
Before  a  Q.  C's.  scurrilous  tirade ; 
And  traitors  who  on  treason  try  to  trade. 

CHrxic. 
Mankind  for  victims  each  the  other  choose ; 
We  gain  our  end,  but  all  things  else  we  lose. 
Belief,  say  spme,  depends  not  on  the  will ; 
But  credit's  optional,  I  fancy,  still. 
That  men  should  hate  each  other  seems  their  lot ; 
That  you  forgive  each  other,  matters  not ; 
You've  both  offended  me,  and  on  the  spot 
I'd  have  you  punished,  but  some  poor  relation 
"Would  always  bother  me  for  compensation  ; 
Not  for  your  loss,  but  for  his  degradation. 
A  man's  a  public  nuisance,  it  is  proved ; 
His  office  is  offensive,  he's  removed ; 
There's  stiU  to  pay,  that's  all  that's  ever  plain ; 
If  well,  for  pleasure  ;  and  if  ill,  for  pain. 

AUTHOR. 

One  thing  is  certain ;  if  I'd  had  to  pay 
For  counsel  such  as  this,  I'm  bound  to  say, 
I'd  have  lost  something  else  beside  my  way. 

CRITIC. 

Bards  eiT  by  method,  and  by  system  stray. 


100  THE  AGE; 

Their  course  is  one  perpetual  deviation, 
Under  the  superintendence  of  stagnation. 
I  showed  one  once,  who,  great  in  perturbation, 
"Was  running  out  of  breath  to  find  himself. 
The  object  of  his  seai'ch  lay  on  the  shelf. 

AUTHOR. 

True  bards  are  rare  birds  truly  ;  ages  pass 
"Without,  sometimes,  an  instance  of  his  class, 
And  seen,  at  best,  as  oft  by  mortal  born. 
As  fay-queen  cantering  on  her  unicorn. 

FEIEND. 

One  use  of  reading  is  to  learn  to  shun 
Doing  what  others  have  already  done. 
A  poet  therefore  ought  to  be  well  read 
In  all  his  brother  bards  before  have  said. 
Now  music's  signs  by  all  can  forth  be  rung. 
And  figures  speak  an  universal  tongue. 
From  Cork  to  Petropaulskoi  an  equation 
Is  by  the  school-boys  known  of  every  nation. 
So  certain  tastes  are  common  to  all  times. 
And  certain  products  almost  to  all  climes ; 
As  generally  met  with  as  a  crow, 
Or  Scotchman,  wheresoe'cr  you  chance  to  go. 
No  doubt  you'd  not  have  thought  it  very  easy 
To  meet  a  white  man  by  the  black  Zambisi ; 


A  SATIRE.  iQi 


But  there  he  was  ;  and  if,  perchance,  employed 
In  '  prospecting  '  a  bran  new  asteroid, 
Ae  braw  Scot  wad  be  loomin'  in  the  void. 
But  truly  to  esteem  the  date  you  must 
Cross  the  blue  seas,  and  breathe  the  desert  dust ; 
Olive,  or  grape,  or  orange.  Alp  and  wave, 
Ere  rightl}--  you  appreciate,  all  must  brave. 
So,  to  enjoy  the  bards  of  every  land, 
You  must  their  native  idioms  understand ; 
The  highest  luxury  this  at  taste's  command. 
To  read  translations  is  to  list  reports 
By  lackeys  made  of  what  goes  on  in  courts. 
Read  poets  in  their  native  tongues,  you'll  own 
You  are  speaking  with  a  king  upon  his  throne. 
Translations  of  all  other  scribes  may  pass ; 
Wits  are  a  somewhat  miscellaneous  class ; 
Dear  Euchd  reads  as  brilliantly  in  Dutch 
As  Greek;  and  I  admire  him  just  as  much. 
But  nought  may  match,  howe'er  a  version  please, 
The  original  poet's  careful  harmonies. 
Translated,  they  are  just  the  thing  not  wanted, 
Like  soda  water,  or  champagne  decanted. 


'Twould  make  some  few  of  your  objections  vanish, 
To  read  Nahuatlaque  versified  in  Spanish. 


102  THE  AGE; 

FRIEND. 

And  prose,  though  Plato's,  or  howe'er  divine, 

"We  measure  by  the  page ;  verse,  by  the  line ; 

As  gold  in  quantity  however  great, 

By  the  ounce  Troy ;  for  worth  is  more  than  weight. 

"Were  I  now  called  upon  to  give  advice 

To  a  novice,  on  poetic  mysteries 

Unalterably  bent,  I'd  not  convey 

A  single  diflGiculty  from  his  way. 

The  roughest  mountain  hides  the  richest  mine ; 

Toil,  hate,  contempt,  are  theirs  by  right  divine, 

"Whose  souls  in  Heaven  shall  brightest,  cahnest  shine. 

As  pupil  I  assume,  unbroken,  he 

"Would  keep  the  sacred  seal  of  secrecy ; 

For  bai'ds,  most  inconsistent,  as  'twould  seem, 

Hate  notoriety  (as  cats  hate  cream)  ; 

And  yet  can  no  more  live  without  pubhcity, 

Than  olive  oil  apart  from  its  lubricity ; 

Decry  renown,  yet  seek  it  oft  in  vain. 

And  finding,  feel  it,  though  a  mental  pain, 

Sweeter  than  sugar  or  the  sugar  cane : 

To  such  an  one  I  might  make  bold  to  say. 

Still,  strict,  at  first,  your  privacy  retain, 

And  this  wise  fix  the  studies  of  the  day. 

Greek  be  your  even  song,  and  Greek  your  matin ; 

Primes,  nones,  and  tierce,  Italian,  English,  Latin. 


A  SATIEE.  103 

Eead  priestly  Hesiod,  servant  of  the  gods, 
Bora  at  the  foot  of  their  divine  abodes ; 
Read  Homer, — Grsecia's,  earth's  subhmest  scribe, 
Monarch  of  bards  and  beggai's. 

CKITIO. 

The  same  tribe. 

FRIEND. 

There  stands  his  two  great  works,  alone,  supreme. 

Like  pyramids  by  the  shore  of  Time's  dark  stream. 

Of  verse  the  legislator  born,  and  sire, 

His  thoughts  are  white  with  heat,  his  words  strike  fire ; 

But  when  his  theme  soft  sweetness  may  require, 

How  rich,  how  delicate  his  accents  roll, 

Like  ewe  milk  quaffed  out  of  a  maple  bowl. 

CRITIC. 

Homer  to  overpraise  seems  scarcely  possible, 
The  fountain  of  all  human  lore  cognoscible. 

AUTHOR. 

If  possible,  I  hardly  deem  it  wrong  ; 

Each  verse,  each  luminous  wavelet  of  his  song. 

Makes  its  own  music  as  it  rolls  along. 

The  wretch  who  doubts  the  half  divine  reality 

Of  Homer,  and  his  human  personality. 


lOi  THE  AGE; 

Be  he  anathema ;  and  no  misnomer ; 
It's  next  to  atheism  to  doubt  Homer. 


Read  mighty  -Slschylus,  whose  harmonies, 

Polysyllabic,  would,  in  days  like  these, 

Crush  critics'  jaws,  or  else  their  theories ; 

Mature  in  thought  and  sad,  wise  Sophocles  ; 

Pathetic,  politic  Euripides  ; 

Moschus,  Bion,  Theocritus,  and  all — 

They  are  but  few — whom  minor  bards  we  call ; 

Sage  Solon,  not  forgetful  of  his  claims 

To  rank  his  own  'mong  Athens'  noblest  names, 

The  very  man  who  would  forgive  a  debtor. 

But  himself  hold  severely  to  the  letter ; 

The  awful  hymnist  Orpheus,  bard  of  fable  ; 

Theognis  and  his  fellows  ;  who  so  able 

Paullo-post-prandial  truth,  at  his  own  table, 

To  teach  ?  those  genial  views  and  moral  platitudes 

Of  brains  the  wine  warms  to  its  native  latitudes  ? 

And,  barring  his  tremendous  oath  don't  stagger  us. 

Study  the  golden  verses  of  Pythagoras ; 

The  odes  of  Pindar ;  he  with  Homer  shared 

The  conqueror  of  the  world's  divine  regard  ; 

Anacreon,  Aristophanes,  together 

May  quell  the  effects  of  suicidal  weather ; 


A  SATIRE.  105 

The  fragments  epicene  of  Sappho  fair; 
Aratus  and  Manilius,  pious  pair. 
So  far  of  Greeks  in  chief ;  but  add  the  strong 
And  triple  code  of  Argonautic  song, 
Theme  grandly  fabled.     First  of  Romans,  next, 
Ponder  Lucretius'  philosophic  text. 
Not  godless,  nor  with  godlessness  perplexed, 
But  with  the  lack  of  one  omnific  hand, 
Adjusting^all  things  made  by  Him  and  planned, 
And  gnat-like  dance  of  atoms,  understand 
None  can ;  the  .^neid  ;  he  indeed  would  urge  ill 
Who  between  Homer  interposed  and  Virgil 
His  claims :  him  love,  his  ai'chetype  adore ; 
Read  Ovid,  rich  in  rare  and  fabulous  lore. 
And  strains  of  starry  import ;  few  before 
Love's  law-giver,  who  since  ?  delight  us  more ; 
Sterner  in  morals  than  in  judgment  sage, 
Lucan,  who  penned  the  epic  of  his  age, 
Unconscious  that  the  time  had  come  again 
When  law  and  equity,  one  soul  made  twain. 
Proved  either  monarch  must,  or  mobarch,  reign ; 
Wise  Juvenal,  and  Persius,  not  too  plain, 
But  pure  in  soul,  just,  who  the  right  maintain  ; 
And  Horace,  happier  than  those  judge-like  twain  ; 
Of  power  more  varied  and  more  perfect  art, 
But  less  severely  virtuous  in  his  heart. 


lOG  THE  AGE; 

And  courtlier.     Read  the  elegiac  three 
Male  graces,  somewhat  coarse,  but  let  that  be — 
Catullus,  and  Tibullus,  and  the  third, 
Propertius. 

CRITIC. 

Im-Proper-tius,  I  have  heard 
Suggested,  as  a  more  appropriate  word. 

FRIEND. 

Italic  Silius,  Claudian,  and  Ausonius, 

Are  more  or  less  pure  writers  and  harmonious  ; 

But  nothing  say  so  grand  as  to  astonj  us. 

Callimachus  and  Martial,  epigrammatists, 

One  scarce  dare  name  with  epic  bards  and  dramatists. 

But  Plautus,  Terence,  Seneca,  all  known 

For  stern,  droll,  tender,  high,  or  seerlike  tone, 

Are  well  worth  careful  conning,  one  by  one. 

These  for  the  ancients  will  suffice,  we'll  say  ; 

Read,  first  of  moderns,  Dante's  threefold  lay, 

Reformer  he  and  censor  of  his  day  ; 

Who  on  an  angel's  pinion,  so  to  speak. 

Carries  you  through  Creation  in  one  week. 

If  aught  of  kindred  feeling  in  your  mind 

Religion,  love,  or  chivalry  should  find, 

Boiardo,  Ariosto,  Tasso  ;  all 

Will  please  you  best  in  the  original, 


A  SATIRE.  107 

And  so  will  Petrarch ;  still,  in  case  of  need, 

Take  up  with  the  vernacular ;  but  read. 

No  epic  have  the  Spaniards  of  their  own, 

Unless  The  Cid  we  substitute  for  one  ; 

To  dignify  to  such  extreme  the  ballad, 

"Were  to  proclaim  a  royal  feast  of  salad. 

The  epic  or  dramatic  forms  of  art, 

Alone,  sufficient  dignity  impart 

To  national  events  or  hero-stories. 

As  makes  them  the  apt  settings  for  such  glories. 

Camoen's  Lusiad,  which  we  know  alone 

Through  Mickle,  mimic  of  Pope's  monotone ; 

And  this  as  far  remote  from  truth  we  feel 

As  the  ten-millionth  copy  of  a  steel- 

Engraving  can  be  from  the  unblackened  plate, 

'Mong  epics  takes  but  an  inferior  state, 

From  its  confused  celestial  machinery, 

Though  good  in  characters,  events,  and  scenery ; 

Fancy  Olympus  made  a  rui'al  deanery. 

Telemachus,  than  modern  epics  fuller 

Of  moral  wisdom — than  old  epics  duller — 

Hath,  not  the  less,  some  beauties  of  its  own, 

Sprung  from  the  Christian  heart  and  saintly  tone 

Of  thought,  that  marked  the  life  of  Fenelon ; 

The  only  priest  who  ever  wrote  a  poem. 


108  THE  AGE; 

By  rule  and  spell  of  art,  which  may  compare 
With  those  majestic  works  by  which  men  swear. 


Let  px-iests  be  priests,  it's  quite  enough  to  know  'em 
In  that  capacity.     The  sun  shines  fair, 
We  want  it  neither  all-ways  nor  ail-where. 

AUTHOR. 

That  PoUok  was  a  priest,  must  be  confessed. 

CBITIO. 

And  paraphrased  the  Bible  at  the  best. 

ADTHOE. 

Young  ? 

FBI£ND. 

For  the  instance  I  your  memory  thank  ; 
Young  wrote — in  verse  particularly  blank — 
Some  essays  sombre  and,  by  fits,  sublime ; 
Though  his  theology  be  somewhat  hazy. 
And  poor  Lorenzo's  morals  drive  one  crazy  ; 
But  all  regai'dless  of  plan,  scene,  and  time  ; 
As  void  of  all  construction  as  of  rhyme. 
Read  Voltaire's  Henriade ;  not  sublime,  I  own, 
But  au  contraire,  the  neatest  epic  known. 


A  SATIKE.  109 

He,  too,  less  stately,  treads  that  tragic  stage 

Corneille  and  Racine,  the  by-passed  age, 

Both  purified  and  dignified.     The  lays 

Of  olden  chivalry,  and  fabulous  days, 

The  Romance  of  the  Rose  and  Brut  of  Wace, 

Diseur,  and  Northern  Trouvere,  and  Jongleur, 

And  amorous  ditties  of  the  Troubadour, 

France  glories  in,  peruse  ;  and  read  to  praise 

Bdranger's  lyrics  gay ;  he  most  melodious 

Of  songsters  Frank ;  the  rest  are  mostly  odious. 

The  Edda  next,  and  Nibelungen  Lied, 

The  earliest  lights  of  Northern  fable  read ; 

Those  earliest  lights  of  song,  which  but  to  praise 

The  proudest  privilege  forms  of  feebler  days  ; 

As  stars  the  brightest  in  night's  holy  sphere, 

The  first  to  come  are  last  to  disappear. 

Poetic  music  Germans  have,  but  less 

The  harmony  of  numbers  can  express 

Than  even  Chinese,  Cherokee,  or  French ; 

Gaelic  scarce  gives  the  jaws  a  deadlier  wrench  ; 

The  reason  why,  ask  Dean  Professor  Trench. 

In  Schiller's  wondrous  drame,  still,  Wallenstein, 

And  Wolfgang's  Faust,  flames  forth  the  fire  divine, 

In  many  a  solid  thought  and  glowing  line. 

Mark  in  those  names  the  standards  of  two  schools, 

That  which  consults,  and  this  which  spurns  all  rules. 


110  THE  AGE; 

In  noble  thoughts  and  philosophic  views 
Of  nature,  life,  man's  duties,  the  French  muse 
Is — might  we  nationally  so  distinguish — 
Than  the  Teutonic  poorer,  or  the  English. 
In  strict  artistic  treatment  of  a  theme, 
Pride  patriotic,  passion's  sinful  dream. 
Ambition's  plot,  or  faith's  fanatic  scheme. 
The  Prankish  among  moderns  sits  supreme. 
Our  British  bards,  we  may  indeed  suppose. 
The  novice  from  his  earliest  childhood  knows. 
Of  such,  perhaps,  the  greatest,  from  the  time 
He  any  thing  could  spell  in  prose  or  rhyme. 
Read'Chaucer,  in  black  letter ;  Spenser's  lay 
Skip  not  one  lonely  hne  of;  blockheads  may; 
Admire  in  Shakespere's  comprehensive  mind 
Wit,  humour,  pathos,  grandeur,  truth  combined ; 
Each  character  an  abstract  of  mankind. 
The  lesser  dramatists  of  Shakespere's  day, 
More  curious  are  than  useful,  in  our  way ; 
And  you  may  just  consult  them  or  ignore  them  ; 
For  Memory  in  her  closet  scarce  will  store  them ; 
And  in  the  race  of  fame  they  sadly  thin  off; 
But  Jonson  reads  like  Milton  witli  the  skin  off; 
Muscle,  nerve,  bone,  and  fine  articulation  ; 
But  still  an  anatomical  preparation. 


A  SATIRE.  Ill 

Wliile  later,  Otway,  Addison,  and  Rowe 

More  pure,  pathetic,  but  less  potent  know. 

Scan  Milton's  strains  with  reverence  ;  but  in  them 

His  partial  creed  and  faulty  faith  condemn  ; 

And  let  all  learn  to  love  the  holy  plan 

Of  rendering  happy  universal  man. 

CRITIC. 

Consider,  MUton  was  a  Puritan  ; 
The  Puritans  were  heroes. 


Should  we  gi'ant 
That  they  were  heroes  in  a  state  of  rant, 
And  half,  believed  their  self-deluding  cant ; 
Still  they  were  greater  hypocrites,  because, 
A  vast  respect  pretending  for  God's  laws. 
They  violated  greater  than  they  kept. 
Like  Pharisees,  for  others'  sins  who  wept, 
And  perpetrated  viler  of  their  own, 
On  slight  pretext,  against  both  shrine  and  throne  ; 
And  aU  of  sober  judgment  to  them  known. 
The  Covenanters  who  would  not  brook  to  pray 
By  set  fonns,  nor  in  any  but  their  way, 
We  can  respect ;  but  men  who  slew,  one  day. 


112  THE   AGE; 

The  least  of  tyrants,  and  a  few  years  later, 

Bore  without  murmur  one  immensely  greater, 

I  cannot  honour  much  ;  nor  do  I  know 

What  are  the  blessings  we  to  Roundheads  owe  ; 

Nor  what  the  laws  or  liberties  we  trace 

To  the  vast  virtues  of  that  rebel  race. 

Men  sacred  duties  have,  I  grant,  and  secular ; 

And  to  discharge  the  two,  hold  not  irregular  ; 

But  think  him  little  better  than  insane 

"Who  boasts,  by  shedding  blood,  to  blend  the  twain. 

An  apostolic  saint,  besmeared  with  blood ; 

Or  chaplain,  sword- in-hand,  who,  for  their  good, 

Slays  without  mercy,  men,  and  cries  "  no  quarter," 

So  perfect  in  the  vital  grace  of  slaughter. 

Patron  of  plunder,  death's  devoted  friend. 

How  can  mere  Christians  consciously  defend  ? 

So,  if  you  call  upon  me  to  admire 

A  saintly  hero,  crying,  "  Present, — fire, — 

Fix  bayonets,"  I  can't  do  what  you  require. 

That  he  his  duty  does  in  his  profession, 

And  nobly  earns  the  cross  in  his  possession. 

And  nothing  earthly  would  exchange  instead  of, 

I  grant  you ;  but,  to  blow  his  brother's  head  off, 

I  cannot  look  on  as  a  Christ-like  act. 

Nor  compliment  him  on  that  deadly  fact 


A  SATIRE.  113 

Of  bloodshed,  which  with  Christian  reason  jostles, 
Nor  hail  such  acts  as  acts  of  the  Apostles. 
A  Christian  murdering  brethren  to  God's  glory 
Appears  to  me  a  most  incongruous  story. 
He  might  as  well  take  all  the  law  that's  left, 
And  glorify  adultery  and  theft. 
To  say  he  does  so  upon  public  principle, 
Appears  to  me  no  argument  invincible. 
If  pubUc  principle  demands  the  cession 
Of  all  the  sense  or  grace  in  my  possession, 
I'll  own  myself  at  once  a  graceless  wretch, 
And  sell  my  sense  for  any  thing  'twill  fetch. 
Or  hasten  to  abjure  the  stern  profession. 
When  once  a  man  feels  sermonish  or  psalmy, 
That  man's  no  longer  business  in  the  army, 
"Where  either  duty  must  with  conscience  clash. 
Or  he  of  both  will  make  a  dreadful  hash. 
His  conscience  tells  him  'twere  a  heinous  sin,  to 
Dismiss  an  unprepared  spirit  into 
His  Maker's  presence  ;  but  stern  duty  urges, 
And  all  reluctance,  deluge-like,  submerges. 
But  does  that,  morally,  acquittance  give 
To  one  who  might  escape  the  alternative  ? 
Or  how  can  conscience,  irresponsibility. 
When  once  enhghtened,  plead,  of  brute  docility  ? 
8 


214  I'HE   AGE; 

CRITIC. 

I  rather  grieve  that  upon  points  like  these 
You  hold  such  strange,  fantastic  theories  ; 
And  much  I  marvel,  for  all  this  and  that. 
What,  for  the  blood  of  me,  you  would  be  at ; 
But  let's  have  done  with  soldiering,  if  you  please. 

FKIEND. 

Cowley,  and  Quarles,  and  Heywood  read ;  then  Waller, 

Whose  verse  was  smoother  though  his  thought  was  smaller. 

Read  Dryden,  Pope,  Swift,  Prior,  Churchill,  Gay, 

Each  one  a  master  in  his  several  way, 

With  what  dehght  or  deference  you  may ; 

Who  bitter  sayings  blend  with  thoughtful  smiles, 

Burnt  in  and  brilliant  like  encaustic  tiles  ; 

They  are  our  useful  bards  of  every  day ; 

But  lofty  never  nor  profound  are  they : 

Plain,  practical,  and  shrewd,  coarse  common  sense 

Rounded  and  polished,  sums  their  competence. 

Those  wicked  wits,  we  know  the  cutting  things 

Tliey  wrote,  and  armed  their  winged  words  with  stings. 

But  they  delight  us  little.     'Twas  a  period 

When  honesty  and  honour  each  seemed  very  odd  ; 

And  virtue,  wheresoever  she  might  go. 

Was  constantly  regarded  as  de  trop, 


A  SATIRE.  115 

And  always  out  of  place ;  and  each  but  made, 
In  men's  eyes,  to  be  bartered  or  betrayed  ; 
And  modesty  a  ghost  that's  quickly  laid. 
Pope's  noblest  work,  his  Essay  upon  Man, 
Claims  a  sublime  and  comprehensive  plan, 
Devout  in  strain,  yet,  (strange  and  sad  behaviour,) 
He  holds  his  theme  complete  without  a  Saviour. 


He  fancied,  I  suspect,  'twas  rather  odd, 

That  one  should  come  between  "A.  Pope,"  and  God. 


Yet  though  condemning  much  in  those  first  named. 

Is  much  unequalled  ;  be  there  much  unblamed. 

"V^ith  Thomson,  Cowper,  Akenside,  there  sprung 

A  purer  diction  on  the  muse's  tongue. 

Whose  fonner  filth  escaped  from,  we,  once  more 

Are  urged  by  pompous  critics  to  explore. 

Gray,  Colhns,  Goldsmith  dwell  on  every  tongue  ; 

"We  justly  glory  in  the  lays  they  sung. 

Be  Merrick,  Shenstone,  Byrom,  not  despised. 

And  Barbauld's  pious  raptures  duly  prized. 

Add  Ossian,  Caedmon,  and  the  bards  of  Wales, 

Who  chant  in  Kymric  strange  and  mystic  tales. 

Though  o'er  their  age  a  cloud  of  doubt  prevails : 


116  THE  AGE; 

Blair,  Beattie,  Mason,  Southey,  Coleridge,  Moore, 

Burns,  Campbell,  Crabbe  ;  and  Scott  I  named  before. 

Rogers,  Keats,  Shelley,  Byron,  Wordsworth,  Hogg, 

Names  uncontested,  close  my  catalogue. 

On  those  more  recent  I  shall  not  insist ; 

I  don't  think  any  name  of  note  is  missed 

That's  necessary  to  be  known,  I  mean. 

Though  writers  by  the  hundred  intervene. 

On  reputations  of  the  loftiest  style. 

Old  Time  reserves  his  judgments  for  a  while. 

Those  only  are  distinctly  ascertained 

To  which  inferior  marks  have  from  the  first  pertained, 

Thus,  many  a  minor  wit  that  we  could  talk  ovei*. 

Has  pocketed  the  stakes  by  a  mere  walk  over. 

Although  he'd  neither  bottom,  wind,  nor  speed, 

And  proved  a  very  so-so  nag  indeed  ; 

"While  others  I  could  tell  of,  who  have  aimed 

At  great  things  and  done  greatly,  live  unfamed. 

And  if,  as  each  of  these,  for  his,  hath  claimed — 

One  only  other  strain  to  these  belongs 

Wliich  seals  the  canon  of  earth's  sacred  songs — 

With  patronage  of  self  who'd  interfere  ? 

And  partial  preference  blends  with  all  things  here. 

CRITIC. 

Of  female  writers  you  have  named  but  two 
Are  these  the  only  worthies,  in  your  view, 


A  SATIRE.  117 

SappTio  and  Mrs.  Barbauld,  named  exactly 

Because  you  tliought  they  paired  the  most  compactly  ? 


Precisely  not.     Are  some  few  in  our  day 
Both  high  and  pure.     The  world  can  rarely  say 
"What  women  write  hath  led  mankind  astray. 


"What  think  you  of  the  general  female  mind 
Contrasted  with  the  male  of  human  kind  ? 

«  CKITIC. 

Nature  hath  not  to  sex  or  class  confined 
Her  noblest  gifts ;  so  every  now  and  then 
Are  women  found  with  minds  surpassing  men. 
Kind  Nature  loves  exceptions  most  because 
They  soften  her  severely  general  laws. 
"Women,  says  Mr.  B.  in  his  instructive 
Lectures,  have  minds  preeminently  deductive, 
Inductive,  men  ;  (I  doubt  whether  the  particle's 
Precisely  proper  to  the  several  articles) 
But  this  I  think  is  clear,  that  his  division 
Fails  from  a  lack  of  logical  precision. 
Beside  the  inductive,  and  deductive  modes 
Of  reasoning,  much  the  nearest  of  all  roads 


118  THE    AGE; 

Is  the  intuitive ;  and  that,  we  know, 

The  short  cut,  by  their  instincts,  women  go ; 

Indeed  they  only  in  perfection  hold 

Those  faculties  more  fine  than  finest  gold. 

But  were  the  Lecturer's  dictum  true,  then  they 

"Would  be  the  first  logicians  of  the  day ; 

But  fact  and  Nature  fail  him  at  this  point, 

And  so  the  Theorist's  theory's  out  of  joint. 

For  mark  how  rarely  women  follow  out 

A  ti*ain  of  reasoning ;  they've  no  time  to  doubt ; 

You  argue  with  them  a  whole,  summer's  day ; 

And  they'll  refute  whatever  you  don't  say. 


"Well ; — to  continue  what  we  talked  before  ; 

Of  oriental  bards,  we  little  more 

Know  than  a  few  translations,  weak  and  poor, 

Enable  us  to  judge  their  sacred  lore  ; 

But  some  no  doubt  are  better,  some  are  worse, 

And  any  thmg  is  better  than  bad  verse. 

Sakontala  read,  and  such  Indian  lays 

As  are  transferred  to  English  in  these  days, 

Though  Sanskrit  seems  a  study  worthy  praise  ; 

The  Bhagavat,  Mahabarat ;  note  in  these 

The  many  half  divine  resemblances 


A  SATIKE.  119 

"Which  may  with  other  mythic  tales  be  traced, 
Whether  the  scene  be  east  or  westward  placed ; 
Firdausi ;  you'U  not  master  in  the  Persian, 
If  unassisted  by  an  English  version, 
His  sixty  thousand  couplets  in  a  trice ; 
Let  Atkinson's  abridgment  then  suffice, 
Though  base  beyond  forgiveness  in  the  sample, 
He  oft-times  gives  of  the  bard's  genius  ample  ; 
To  whom  his  native  land's  religious  mystery, 
TracUtions,  laws,  wars,  and  primaeval  history. 
The  orb  supply  whereon  his  creatures  move 
'Mid  fairies,  fiends,  and  kings ;  hei'oic  love ; 
Adventures  age  may  blame,  but  youth  defends ; 
Just  arms  ;  and  labours  virtue  must  approve. 
I  love  those  grand  old  works  wherein  we  find 
The  vast  completeness  of  one  master  mind. 
Who,  like  some  provident  despot,  blandly  bends, 
Subjected  powers  to  his  majestic  ends. 
Hafiz  and  Saadi ;  melancholy  wise 
In  mirth,  and  sadness  which  from  mirth  will  rise. 
And  varied  knowledge  of  life's  vanities. 
Know  fierce  Antar,  the  Arab's  hero-bard, 
Who  sang,  who  bled  for  one  divine  reward. 
His  lovely  Ibla  ;  Ah  !  his  countless  toils, 
And  triumphs ;  his  bereavements,  and  his  spoils ; 


120  THE  AGE; 

Where  steps  his  foot,  is  war ;  where'er  he  gains, 
He  glorifies  a  conquest  by  his  strains. 
Though  dead,  his  body,  Hfeless  as  it  was. 
Protects,  with  spear  in  rest,  his  people's  secret  pass. 

CRITIO. 

All  nature  forms  the  base  of  the  bard's  song  ; 
To  him  all  lore,  all  sciences  belong. 
From  the  Creation  downwards  Homer  knew 
The  rise  of  gods  and  mortals  ;  Virgil,  too. 
And  Ovid  sang  according  to  the  view 
Deemed  philosophic,  of  those  distant  times ; 
Why  show  not  now  our  bards,  in  serious  rhymes, 
How  luckless  man  first  lost  his  fishy  shape, 
But  soared  sublime  through  reptiles  to  the  ape, 
Through  apes  to  men  ?     How  many  on  the  way, 
Stopped  at  some  half-way  house  wei'e  hard  to  say. 


Facts  fabled ;  as  of  Arkles,  god  of  day, 
Whom  some  abysmal  monster  thought  to  dish, 
By  gorging ;  but  that  hero  through  the  fish, 
(Disdaining  to  go  backwards,  bend,  or  double,) 
Fought  his  way  out  'mid  much  intestine  trouble ; 
A  solar  myth  of  prehistoric  ages, 
Known  but  to  Dr.  Smith  and  the  seven  sages. 


A   SATIRE.  121 

CRITIC. 

Philosophy,  like  Stilton  cheese,  is  found 

To  please  us  most,  when  just  a  thought  unsound  ; 

In  proofs  of  this  youi'  novelists  abound. 

We  don't  like  sheer  corruption,  as  is  seen 

In  atheistic  writers,  coarse,  cold,  mean  ; 

But  less  object  to  a  capacious  scheme 

Where,  whether  Power  Creative  be,  or  seem 

To  infer  is  optional ;  you  can't  misdeem. 

AUTHOR. 

But  suits  not  such  the  poet,  nor  his  theme. 
The  theory  of  progression  seems,  to  me, 
To  squeeze  a  surplus  from  deficiency. 
To  Nature  truest,  bards  in  gracious  tone 
All  thmgs  as  emanant  teach  from  God  alone  ; 
Among  the  faithful,  faithless  was  but  one : 
For  whose  sole  sin  let  his  pure  life  atone. 


Philosophy,  no  doubt,  the  bard  should  study, 

And  metaphysics  ;  though  the  stream  be  somewhat  muddy, 

The  fount  is  fair  and  pure  and  deemed  divine ; 

And  Ethics,  which  our  moral  laws  define  ; 

Rights,  duties,  interests,  ties,  which  lure  men,  guard,  combine. 

In  that  grand  region,  lo  !  prepared  to  greet  us, 

Beside  the  three  supreme,  stand  Epictetus, 


322  THE  AGE; 

Simplicius,  Hierocles,  and  Marc  Aurelius, 

Who  thougli  an  Emperor  scolds  (and  pretty  freely)  us, 

And  Seneca. 


I  much  admire  these  men  ; 
And  Arrian  I've  read  throuofh  and  throufrli  again. 


Read  History ;  solid  and  substantial  fare  ; 

Thucydides,  and  Ciesar,  Hume,  Voltaire ; 

Him  who  in  Greek  of  Romans  wrote,  Polybius, 

"Which  makes  us  class  him  as  a  scribe  amphibious ; 

Plain  Xenophon,  stern  Tacitus,  curt  Sallust, 

Hard-headed  fellows  these,  with  heaps  of  ballast ; 

No  flighty  fits,  no  legends,  no  ridiculous 

Fables,  like  much  in  Diodorus  Siculus, 

Herodotus,  Livy,  Plutarch,  and  Procopius, 

(I  name  not  Justin,  Florus,  or  Eutropins) 

And  monkish  chronicles  so  wild  and  so  pious ; 

But  full  of  revolutions,  treaties,  fights. 

Long  speeches,  embassies,  huge  wrongs  ;  crimes  ;  rights 

Overthrown,  or  gained,  by  tumult  or  intrigue  ; 

By  states  in  conflict,  or  by  kings  in  lengue  ; 

And  not  to  o'erload  your  memory  with  olil  writers, 

We'll  none  less  pure,  name,  nor  less  known  inditers. 


A  SATIRE.  •  123 

FRIEND. 

The  pith  of  ancient  history's  aggregation, 
Of  conquests  made  by  some  hard-fisted  nation, 
Until  it  ends  in  one  huge  concentration, 
Which  by  its  own  weight  yields  to  separation. 

CRITIC. 

Our  modern  annals  give  to  separate  states 

The  vivid  interest  of  divided  fates. 

Read  Montesquieu,  Miiller,  deep  in  Dorians, 

And  Machiavelli,  prince  of  all  historians ; 

No  wits  on  earth  can  generalize  so  well, 

Nor  theorize  as  those  of  France  la  belle. 

Rollin,  De  Thou  write  well ;  and  that  Bonnechose 

Is  full  of  good  things  every  student  knows. 

Read  Gibbon,  grand  from  opening  to  his  close. 

Macaulay's  all  good  gifts,  we  own,  but  then, 

Not  quite,  according  to  judicious  men, 

So  perfect  in  all  matters  of  the  pen 

As  yet  he  might  have  been  ;  and  of  the  Stuarts 

He  speaks  in  terms  that  grate  on  not  a  few  hearts ; 

Strong,  polished,  clear,  concise  ;  more  copious  Alison 

Deserves  not,  for  that  cause,  the  Muse's  malison. 

A  vulgar  prejudice  whoever  cherishes 

Wastes  life  in  pampering  that  which  hourly  perishes. 

There  is  a  beauty  in  itself  diffuse, 

Yet  of  Ionic  grace,  and  clearest  use 


124  THE  AGE; 

In  luring  through  a  work,  of  bulk  extensive 

Yet,  say  not  more  than  duly  comprehensive, 

Of  age-long  struggles,  and  those  vast  events. 

The  staple  of  the  historian's  arguments  ; 

Where  thrones  and  conquests  shine  as  accidents ; 

For  kings  and  nations  cast  into  war's  crucible, 

Are  not  at  all  the  same  as  first  prcyiucible  ; 

The  style  of  proverbs,  curt  and  cramp'd,  grows  tedious, 

And  best  fits  spelling-books,  and  cyclopaedias. 


Time  was  ;  when  centuries  seemed  to  roll  apace, 
And  nought  whatever  to  have  taken  place, 
Save  heroes'  births,  the  glories  of  their  race. 
Time  is  ;  and  lo  !  contrasted,  now  with  then. 
The  age  of  great  events  and  little  men. 


True :  marching  down  the  Strand  the  other  day 
I  met  a  band  of  placards  on  the  way, 
Announcing,  for  mankind's  alleviation, 
A  grand  approaching  reconciliation, 
Between  the  Chartists  and  the  British  nation  ; 
Thinking  of  Bruce  and  Comyn  I  paced  quicker, 
And  stern  Kirkpatrick's  motto  "  I'se  mak  sicker  ; 
The  hall  of  conference  gained  in  time  to  learn 
That  three  great  orators  had  had  their  turn. 


A  SATIRE.  125 

And  that  an  eminent  statesman  once  in  prison 

For  talking  nonsense,  but  who  since  has  risen 

To  head  the  people  now  for  mere  amusement, — 

To  goad  a  lazy  hour  his  sole  inducement, — 

Had,  with  a  magnanimity  outshined 

Only  by  those  who  have  most  wronged  mankind, 

Enjoined  his  "  tail "  to  cease  its  contrariety. 

And  rather  patronize  (than  not)  society. 

Struck  with  the  vast  importance  of  the  fact, 

I  marvelled,  first,  how  Government  would  act ; 

But,  in  the  end,  reposed  on  its  known  tact, 

In  difficult  crises,  by  the  public  backed. 

The  game  was  worth  the  candle,  pretty  clearly, 

So  I  resolved  to  stay  it  out,  or  nearly. 

I  never  was  so  smitten  with  the  sense 

Of  sub-celestial  benevolence, 

As  when,  a  minute  after,  I  may  say, 

He  told  us,  in  his  large  and  liberal  way, 

After  a  few  broad  and  majestic  passes. 

Made,  Mesmer-like,  to  magnetize  the  masses. 

He  had  not  clean  forgot  "  the  middle  classes  ;  " 

But — though  we  don't  deserve  it — he,  meanwhile. 

Would  help  a  lame  dog  o'er  a  crooked  stile, 

And  meant,  before  we  perished  out  of  hand, 

To  save  us,  by  assuming  the  command 


126  THE   AGE; 

Of  things  in  general,  from  the  channel  fleet, 
And  Bank  of  England,  to  the  "  Pytchley  Meet  "  :— 
Whereby  we  naight,  in  due  course,  hope  to  earn  all 
The  kind  regards  of  Chartist  pikes  fraternal. 

AUTHOR. 

Time  surely  will  be,  when  events  and  men 
"Will  move  with  due  equality  again. 


Our  tastes  grow,  as  mind  ripens,  more  historical ; 
"We  seek  no  meaning  past  the  metaphorical. 
And  esoterics  shun,  and  allegorical. 
False  in  the  letter,  in  the  spirit  true, 
A  phrase  may  shake  the  world,  a  creed  subdue. 
Meantime  we  know  that  one  and  one  make  two ; 
And  likewise,  though  to  tell  it  makes  me  grieve, 
The  more  we  know  the  less  we  can  believe. 
The  more  we  ply  the  oracle,  the  less 
Can  we  rely  on  its  trustworthiness. 


'Neath  all  this  learning  song  may  go  to  wrack, 
And  your  last  straw  has  fairly  broke  my  back. 
I  must  know  all,  you  say,  before  I  write, 
Historians  have  thought  prudent  to  indite. 


A  SATIRE.  127 

For  never  sane  man,  I  suppose,  supposes 

That  what  he  knows  for  truth  a  scribe  discloses  ; 

All  history  to  some  purpose  preconceived 

Is  written  ;  to  be  cited,  not  believed. 

The  wildest  dream  that  cloud-like  blurs  man's  mind 

Not  quite  so  drear  nor  meaningless  we  find, 

As  when  one  (fed  on  bread-stuffs  and  things  edible) 

Writes  us  a  history  and  believes  it  credible. 

CRITIC. 

Know  all  this  ? — more  !     A  bard  must  be  well  grounded 

In  those  criterial  rules  whereon  are  founded 

The  principles  of  poesy  as  art, 

And  theory ;  or  he  can  ne'er  impart 

Due  majesty  and  grandeur  of  effect, 

To  the  high  fane  whereof  he's  architect. 

I'm  all  along  supposing  that  in  spite 

Of  twinkling  trifles  and  mere  motes  of  light, 

Such  as  these  scraps  and  crumbs  I  see  you  write, 

You  both  possess  the  power  and  the  intention 

To  found  a  poem  of  your  own  invention  ; 

Some  well-considered  mass  of  various  thought. 

With  judgment's  most  mature  conclusions  fraught. 

In  one  consistent  orb — ruled  by  one  purpose — wrought. 

I  say  to  found  a  poem,  as  a  state. 

Or  city,  by  some  hero,  led  by  fate ; 

For  Maro  and  ^neas  show  like  great. 


128  THE  AGE; 

FRIEND. 

Bards  must  of  learning  have  both  stores  abstruse 
And  common,  fit  for  ornament  and  use. 
Versed  in  all  creeds,  in  jurisprudence,  law, 
Politics,  oeconomics,  statics,  draw 
Still  sparely  from  Dame  Memory's  golden  store, 
Who,  more  and  more  acquiring,  hoai'ds  the  more, 
And  justly  grudges  aught,  unless  to  tried 
Uses,  and  hands  judiciously  applied  ; 
Refusing  still,  till  oft  fair  fancy  find 
Like  models  in  the  maker's  proper  mind. 
For  did  young  bards  their  Aristotle  know, 
Longinus,  Horace,  Pope,  Bysshe,  Blair,  Boileau, 
They  would  not  now  perhaps  such  rubbish  write, 
As  well  might  stagger  the  great  Stagy  rite. 


Nor  would  the  bardic  genius  of  the  day. 
Like  Swiss  flood  on  its  suicidal  way. 
Dwindle  into  a  mist  of  drivelling  spray. 

FRIEND. 

A  man's  gestation  of  his  work  should  be 
Nine  years,  says  Horace  ;  sound  adviser  he. 
Before  you  "  pen  a  stanza  "  think  an  hour  : 
Many  mistake  activity  for  power. 


A  SATIRE.  129 

CRITIC. 

Let  me,  too,  urge  on  your  consideration, 

And  eai'nestlj  advise  due  meditation 

Of  theme  and  tone ;  and,  ere  you  court  the  public, 

Polish  and  shape,  as  bears  their  favourite  cub  lick. 

Up  to  the  last  degree,  the  raw  material 

Of — doubtless — your  forthcoming  rhythmic  serial. 

FEIEMD. 

Oh,  get  you  gone  for  serials.     I'm  quite  sick  of  'em ; 
Or  black,  or  blue,  or  scarlet,  take  the  pick  of  'em  ; 
And  when  you  have  done  full  justice  to  your  slumbers, 
Read — for  refreshment — xxvi.  of  Numbers. 

AUTHOE. 

Accept  my  thanks,  friends,  for  your  kind  attention. 

You  act  upon  the  old  saw  of  "  prevention 

Better  than  cure  " ;  but  even  were  I  curable, 

I  know  not  whose  advice  were  least  endurable. 

One  says,  "  Know  all  things  ere  you  speak  a  word  ;  " 

"  Better  not  cause  an  earthquake  till  you've  stirred," 

Exclaims  the  other :  this,  at  any  rate,  is 

Proof  of  its  value ;  the  advice  is  gratis. 

And  though  of  course  reproof  is  never  liked, 

The  greatest  gun  is  just  as  easily  spiked 

As  any  other,  though  of  less  cahbre ; 

Which  very  thing  chanced  to  the  queen  of  Sheba, 


130  THE  AGE; 

Who,  charged  with  all  the  wisdom  of  the  south, 
Was  by  a  riddle  foiled  from  a  youth's  mouth. 
Just  as  in  politics  we  find  it  well 
That  every  party  have  m  turn  its  spell ; 
When  heaven  and  earth  are  sated  of  the  Whigs, 
The  Tories  take  the  bat,  and  play  like  rigs ; 
Each  cries,  in  his  own  j)rophet's  name,  his  figs ; 
It's  my  turn  therefore  now,  or  mine's  a  poor  heart- 
To  give  a  bard's  opinion  upon  your  art, 
And  those  who  ply  it  with  such  gross  success, 
The  pseudo-censoi's  of  the  public  press. 
For,  as  a  general  rule,  though  grant  I  may 
The  present  case  points  quite  the  other  way 
(May  modesty  offend  you  not,  I  pray), 
A  critic  should  start  nothing  of  his  own. 
But  draw  his  art-rules  from  the  examples  shown, 
And  reverently  adopt  his  author's  tone. 


Should  he  ?     As  Mrs.  Partington  observes, 

"  There  Paul  and  I " — proceed  on  different  curves  ; 

One  goes  to  Coventry,  and  one  to  Bath,* 

And  you  may  go  to — either ;  choose  your  path. 

FRIEND. 

The  Druid  muttering  from  a  hollow  oak. 
Made  boors  believe  it  was  the  tree  that  spoke  ; 


A   SATIRE.  131 

Our  Druids,  too,  work  oracles,  'tis  said, 
But  more  by  means  of  editorial  lead : 
Which,  largely  interspersed  with  all  they  write, 
Gives  weight  to  what  the  ci'itic  may  indite. 

AUTHOR. 

Take  the  ^  of  ignorance,  -|-  conceit, 

X  by  malevolence  —  wit, 

==  the  character,  in  this  our  time, 

Of  self-dubbed  critics,  ravers  all  on  rhyme — 

Our  so-called  judges  of  song,  lilt,  and  lay, 

Ode,  epic,  legend,  tragedy,  or  play ; 

Judges  whose  robes  so  far  from  decked  with  emaine. 

Are  edged  with  hedgehogs'  hides  and  such-like  vermin. 

Never  unanimous  they,  but  to  determine 

Upon  some  great  injustice  ;  one  forbodes 

Their  harsh  decrees,  too  hard  to  mend  our  roads. 

CRITIC. 

How  quite  affected  our  young  friend  appears  ! 
Oh !  I  could  shed  a  cataract  of  tears, 
"With  various  grand  and  luminous  effects. 
More  than  a  Surrey  Garden  bill  detects. 
To  note  the  wreck  stern  reason  will  produce 
'Mong  powers  whose  only  aim's  to  balk  her  use. 
But  I'm  accustomed  to  select  abuse ; 


132  THE   AGE; 

Nor  shall  aught  make  me  deviate  in  my  mind 

From  praise  or  blame,  as  I  most  fitting  find. 

"When  first  I  take  a  poem,  say,  in  hand, 

I  judge  of  it  by  rules  myself  have  planned. 

Thus  : — Is  the  author's  scheme  capacious,  new ; 

In  itself  total,  based  on  tracings  true 

To  nature  and  to  art,  and  a  just  view 

Of  life  and  life's  great  laws  ?     Is  he  original. 

Or  is  he  mercilessly  bent  to  pigeon  all 

"Writers  before  him  ?     Mark !  a  bard  may  be 

In  great  works  too  original ;  we  would  see 

Links  of  the  starry  chain ;  submission  free 

To  precept,  and  a  proud  obedience 

To  rules  established  by  the  finest  sense, 

Moral  and  critical ;  for — no  offence — 

"Who  solely  on  his  own  resources  draws, 

Lives  like  a  bear  by  sucking  his  own  paws ; 

A  thriftless  process.     Is  he  plain  and  clear  ? 

Does  his  design  a  lofty  moral  bear, 

Or  lowly  ?     Does  it  serve  a  present  good  ? 

Or  is  it  truth  unripe,  the  future's  golden  food  ? 

If  either,  'twill  outweigh  some  rhythm  rude. 

Forms  it  a  varied,  comprehensive  whole, 

The  fair  reflection  of  a  liberal  soul, 

"Who  serving  Nature,  spurns,  sometimes  her  laws, 

And  Art  subjecting,  vindicates  her  cause  ? 


A  SATIRE.  133 


If  passable  in  these  things  it  appear,  , 

I  next  note  how  it  falls  upon  the  ear. 

For  if  fine  thoughts  are  sweetly  said,  the  better, 

So  are  the  soul  and  sense  made  each  a  debtor ; 

And  poesie  herself  is  doubly  fair, 

When  she  reflects  the  charms  our  charmers  wear 

And  as  she  sings  the  cherry  lip  or  cheek, 

"We  almost  touch,  we  alnaost  hear  it  speak. 


I  detest  metaphors  of  that  description  : 

Do  you,  pray,  peachy  cheek  and  honeyed  lip  shun  ? 

CRITIC. 

This  is  the  bard's  gay  science ;  thus  he  proves 
How  much  of  heaven  he  feels  while  earth  he  loves. 

AOTHOK. 

For  all  'twere  better,  there  were  more  like  you  ; 
But  you  are  sole :  I  know  not  number  two. 

CRITIC. 

Oh,  you  may  think,  perhaps,  to  take  me  off 
By  flattery,  but  the  stuff"s  not  strong  enough ; 
Weak  diluents  I  fear  not, — scarcely  hate  ; 
I  rather  hke  corrosive  sublimate. 


134  THE  AGE; 

FRIEND. 

Critics  have  fewer  faults  in  tliis  our  time, 
Than  ever  since  men  first  could  write  or  rhyme ; 
And  I  remember  "  Edinburgh  "  and  "  Quarterly  " 
(The  daughter  who  behaved  her  so  undaughterly), 
In  all  their  palmy  pride ;  now  one  offence 
Only  is  theirs — to  wit — incompetence. 

AUTHOR. 

The  value  of  whose  judgments  may  be  gathered 

By  weighing  those  whose  muse  they  foudliest  fathered. 

To  one  come  Keats  and  Shelley ;  which  was  worst 

Their  only  puzzle  :  ere  this,  to  the  first 

Comes  Byron,  Coleridge,  Wordsworth,  Southey,  Moore ; 

Your  Prince  of  Critics  shows  them  all  the  door. 

Another  comes  ;  'tis  Hodgson  !  he's  the  man 

"Who'll  do  all  great  things  that  a  poet  can. 

Alas !  scarce  even  his  euphonious  name 

Now  brightens  the  illumined  roll  of  Fame. 

But  when  the  clear  discerning  class  had  proved 

The  claimants'  marks  were  not  to  be  removed, 

Oh,  then — what  raptures !  how  my  lord  he  loved  ! 

What  depth  in  Coleridge,  then  !  what  wit  in  Moore  1 

Then,  notes  of  admiration  by  the  score. 

Your  leading  critics  never,  to  their  shame, 

Though  wise  enough  to  doubt,  and  prompt  to  blame. 

True  poet  recognized  whene'er  he  came. 


A  SATIRE.  _        135 

And  why  ?  because  absorbed  in  their  own  smallness, 

They'd  measm-e  by  their  inch  a  Titan's  tallness  ; 

And  having  stretched  up  almost  to  his  ankle, 

And  found  no  end,  they  let  their  envy  rankle, 

And  suck  their  thumbs  in  silence  at  the  sisht. 

Or  else  they  pay  some  small  poetic  wight, 

Who  more  majestic  minds  will  estimate. 

As  huckster  casting  up  the  world's  estate ; 

The  least  of  items  for  him  far  too  great. 

Such,  hke  an  elf  of  hght  evoked  to  span 

Some  solar  angel's  firmamental  plan 

(Both  spirits,  but  by  no  means  of  one  clan), 

Having  careered  o'er  continents,  to  rifle 

A  kingdom  of  a  grass  blade,  or  such  trifle, 

Affects  and  plucks  just  that  which  he  can  find, 

'Mid  boundless  stores,  suits  his  minutest  mind ; 

To  grander  objects  unallured,  or  blind. 

But  critics  should  be  taught — if  teach  one  might, 

The  witless  wisdom,  or  the  reckless  right — 

Their  duties  ;  if  neglected,  use  the  rod. 

CRITIC. 

The  lads  to  flog  the  usher  ; — that  seems  odd 

AUTHOR. 

Nor  reason  with  a  brainless  gasteropod  ; 


136  THE   AGE; 

Waxed  fat,  in  stomach  high  and  proud,  no  doubt, 
Joined  to  humanity,  percliance,  by  gout ; 
But  lacking  all  those  nobler  traits  that  show 
The  race  imperial,  lords  of  all  below. 


Poets  are  like  the  garrets  where  they  grumble 
Over  their  fate  with  long  melodious  mumble,—^ 
Outside  they're  mighty  high,  inside  as  humble. 
In  Agamemnon's  host  were  barely  ten 
Could  estimate  aright  their  king  of  men, 
Or  trace  his  future  with  prophetic  ken. 
Critics  are  fallible,  say,  now  and  then. 
But  if  you've  never  published — 

AUTHOR. 

As  is  true. 

FRIEND. 

How  have  these  critics  so  offended  you  ? 

•» 

AUTHOR. 

I  only  take  the  just  and  general  view. 
Within  the  sweep,  once,  of  an  eagle's  wing 
A  wren  was  caught,  as  in  a  whirlwind's  ring ; 
And  having  with  the  balance  of  her  wits 
Escaped,  and  a  succession  of  mild  fits. 


A  SATIRE.  137 

During  a  sharp  attack  of  indoor  weather, 

She  carves  a  pen  out  of  her  last  tail-feather, 

And  sets  up  for  a  critic  altogether. 

And  first,  she  must  condemn  the  needless  strength 

Of  such  a  bird,  and  his  enormous  length 

Of  wing,  which  truly  stretched,  from  tip  to  tip, 

Farther  than  she  dared  hop,  or  cared  to  skip. 

As  a  just  model  of  the  feathered  tribe, 

She  begged  her  own  dimensions  to  describe. 

Her  if  aught  more  offended  in  particular, 

'Twas  that  he  bore  himself  too  perpendicular. 

The  creature,  when  at  rest,  stood  well-nigh  straight 

And  uj^right ;  this  was  sadly  tempting  fate  ; 

All  which  he,  doubtless,  now  perceived  too  late. 

No  matter  that  his  sires  had  always  done  so  ; 

He  ought  to  stoop,  and  should  not  have  begun  so. 

To  stand  bolt  up  was  an  un-wrenlike  mode  : 

'Twas  worse,  twas  human ; — this  she  oddly  showed, 

Beside,  his  beak  was  crooked ;  and  his  talons 

Scarce  fit,  she  feared,  for  fashionable  salons. 

His  hue  too  golden  was  ;  his  eye  too  keen  ; 

His  flight  too  far,  too  high  ;  his  flesh  too  lean. 

His  cry  she  heard,  as  of  a  rended  sphere  ; 

But  it  meant  nothing  to  her  tiny  ear ; 

And  then  how  different  to  that  low  light  twilter. 

Which  always  sets  her  heart  a  patter-pitter. 


138  THE   AGE; 

• 
As  to  his  habits,  she'd  say  nothing  bitter ; 

Her  nest,  she  knew,  was  never  m  a  litter 

With  rams'  horns,  sheep-shanks,  hare-skins,  and  old  bones ; 

She'd  rather  win  her  bread  by  breaking  stones 

Than  own,  like  him,  a  land-house  and  a  water-house. 

And  make  her  drawing-room  a  private  slaughter-house, 

As  his  was  known,  from  killing  his  own  mutton  ; 

But  that  weighed  not,  with  her,  a  schoolboy's  button : 

In  her  just  estimate  of  mental  powers, 

We  never  find,  said  she,  a  match  for  ours  ; 

And  sneer,  nor  jeer,  nor  any  hint  unkind 

One  moment  dimmed  the  mirror  of  her  mind. 

And  lastly,  though  she  knew  his  judgment  weak, 

And,  for  the  future,  begged  he'd  shut  his  beak. 

She  hoped  he'd  profit  by  her  kind  critique. 

The  eagle  heard — and  heard — and  did  not  speak. 

CRITIC. 

You,  doubtless,  are  the  eagle  ;  I,  the  wren  : 
Old  legends  suit  us  well,  both  birds  and  men. 

AUTHOR. 

Grant  now  a  revolution  were  required 

In  any  art,  'twere  most  to  be  desired 

In  the  vain  critic's  craft ;  and  since  they  seem 

Wildly  besotted  in  some  opiate  dream 


A  SATIRE.  •  139 

Of  fancied  worth  and  influence,  it  is  time 
Their  misdeeds,  more  'gainst  reason  than  'gainst  rhyme, 
"Were  shown  them  in  that  mild  and  suasive  tone, 
Which  bards,  alas  !  now  cultivate  alone. 

CRITIC. 

Proceed  ;  I'm  rather  anxious  mine  were  known. 

AUTHOR. 

Time  was,  when  poets  with  affected  heat. 
Inflated  verse,  with  proud  tumescent  feet. 
Incessant  wrought :  no  longer  such  we  meet. 
As  traitors,  brought  some  eastern  Khan  before. 
Bow  their  gagged  heads,  and  leave  them  on  the  floor, 
These  worthies  know  we  and  their  place  no  more. 
Time  was  when  English  critics  something  knew 
Of  science,  classic  lore,  and  Eastern,  too ; 
Of  ancient  annals,  mythic  legends,  lays, 
And  deeds  heroic  of  earth's  earlier  days 
Philosophies  and  sects  that  vexed  the  world. 
Ere  truth  and  Christian  reason  free  unfurled 
Their  one  united  banner ;  such  could  then 
Assist,  correct,  discern  those  who  by  pen 
"Would  teach,  or  nobly  charm,  the  minds  of  men. 
But  critics  now,  unhonoured  yet  by  rhymes, 
"With  base  ambition,  unlike  that  which  climbs, 
Burn  to  engross  the  ignorance  of  their  times. 


140  •  THE   AGE; 

Our  English  '  know-nothings '  of  fearful  fame, 

Though  duU,  ungentle ;  though  unfeeling,  tame ; 

Who  spurt  their  spongy  quills  made  foul  by  use, 

Plucked  from  the  pinion  of  some  rabid  goose, 

Content  them  now  with  verbiage  and  abuse. 

Oft  have  I  viewed  with  fervent  indignation. 

Some  simple  muse  of  modest  reputation, 

Whose  timid  air,  unconscious  of  resistance, 

Seemed  to  crave  pardon  for  her  mere  existence  ; 

Insulted,  mocked,  bespattered  by  tliis  clique, 

Whose  brains  had  gone  to  play  at  hide  and  seek, 

And  never  found  themselves  but  once  a  week, 

And  that  was  when  they  slept  too  sound  to  speak. 

These  seek  not  to  expound  the  scope  or  plan 

An  author  hath,  but  spoil  it  all  they  can ; 

Till  as  the  moon,  whose  orb  in  Heaven  though  bright. 

In  pools  and  gutters  shows  a  perfect  fright ; 

So  in  these  filthy  puddles  of  the  press, 

A  book's  distorted  into  ugliness. 

No  sense  of  truth  is  theirs,  no  aim  to  reach 

Tlie  truths  profound  or  high  the  work  may  teach. 

But  labouring  hard,  as  greedy  of  disgrace, 

Proud  of  contempt  and  a  degenerate  race. 

As  the  first  gi'ins,  the  rest  distort  their  face. 

Thus  may  be  marked,  after  a  drenching  day, 

A  chain  of  watery  mire-holes  block  the  way  ; 


A   SATIRE.  141 


Each  than  the  other  shallower,  till  the  last 
Into  mere  mud  and  simple  slime  hath  passed. 

CKITIC. 

Dispute  all  tliis  although,  of  course,  I  could, 
I  can't  defend  my  brethren  as  I  would. 
These  of  two  classes,  mainly,  we  shall  find : 
The  first  a  very  meddling,  peddUng  kind 
Of  disappointed  authors,  who  have  sought 
(But  whose  success  is  figured  by  a  0) 
In  various  fields  of  literary  fame. 
To  compass  e'en  the  echo  of  a  name. 
So  Aliquis,  for  all  things  proved  unfit. 
Asserts  himself  his  opposite, — a  wit ; 
And  vagrant-tumbler-like,  who,  heels  in  air. 
Delights  the  youth  of  some  suburban  square, 
So  blabs  unconsciously  his  happiest  art. 
Whose  head  is,  naturally,  his  heaviest  part. 
Poor  Crispus  wrote  with  such  unlucky  skill, 
His  books  appeared  and  vanished,  as  at  will 
Of  some  curst  wizard,  born  to  breed  them  ill. 
Each  monstrous  birth  successive  shoved  aside 
Its  sickly  senior,  till  the  whole  litter  died 
By  secret  and  fore  fated  fratricide. 
Beginning  with  decline,  'twere"  hard  to  tell 
So  brief  their  life,  what  was  it  them  befell. 


142  THE   AGE; 

By  natural  laws,  as  wise  no  doubt  as  deep, 
They  lay,  aud  slew  each  other  in  their  sleep. 


Others,  again,  no  authors  are,  not  they ; 
But  mere  mahgnancy  incites  to  say 
The  falsest,  vilest  trash  they  can  invent, 
And  close  then*  eyes  to  every  good  intent 
Or  noble  aim  that  fires  the  author's  heart, 
So  high  above  their  mercenary  part. 
Take,  for  example,  Old  Jactator  gruff, 
Grave  as  an  owl,  and  pungent  as  Scotch  snuff; 
His  columns  with  sententious  prose  cram  full. 
And  saws  laconic,  curt,  but  deadly  dull. 
Sugar  may  be  from  timber  made,  'tis  said ; 
But  sugar  from  Jactator's  knotty  head 
Would  turn,  methinks,  to  acetate  of  lead. 
If  authors  would  be  just,  perhaps  they  might 
To  form  some  testimonial  unite. 
And  files  of  his  own  papers,  largely  planned, 
With  base  just  broad  enough  to  fill  the  Strand, 
Might  a  new  fortress  of  oblivion  stand. 
In  honour  of  Jactator ;  high  would  rise 
The  koprolithic  mountain  of  his  lies. 
Just  fate  were  his,  if  he,  immured  the  while, 
Hear,  in  the  dungeons  of  that  dreary  pile. 


A   SATIRE.  143 

Hard  by,  some  doleful  and  congenerate  fowl, 
Some  blind  old  buzzard,  or  some  long-eared  owl 
(Which  critic-like  doth  notably  combine. 
So  lavish  seems  boon  Nature  to  their  line, 
The  owlish  honours  with  the  asinine), 
Through  wintry  nights,  monotonous  in  woe, 
The  wanderer  warning  of  the  wretch  below. 

CEITIC. 

A  man  sometimes,  if  taken  at  his  word. 
Most  suffers  by  his  own  success.     I've  heard 
The  following  story,  and  avouch  its  truth, 
As  happening  in  my  mediaeval  youth, 
Nor  foreign  to  our  end,  I  beg  to  say : 
Brave  Bendigo,  the  Hittite,  one  fine  day. 
Intent  on  angling,  or  some  peaceful  play. 
Took,  to  Trent's  flowery  banks,  his  gamesome  way. 
There,  met  a  chum,  who  bet  him,  it  would  seem, 
He  could  not  hurl  a  brick-bat  o'er  that  stream. 
Both  classic  and  romantic,  as  we  deem. 
Our  hero,  who  had  never  fought  a  field 
His  stanchest  foe  was  not  too  glad  to  yield. 
Bendy,  to  thoughtless  challengers  too  lenient, 
Picked  up  the  article — it  lay  convenient — 
And,  having  whirled  it  once  about  his  head. 
Flung  it  clean  over  river,  bank,  and  bed. 


144  11^^   -^CIE; 

The  wager  paid,  the  champion  gained  his  point ; 
But  found  he'd  put  his  shoulder  out  of  joint ; 
"Went  home  dejected,  racked  with  grief  and  anguish, 
Without  one  victory  doomed  three  years  to  languish. 
Moral :  take  warning  due ;  nor  risk  your  wits 
By  raihng,  till  you  tumble  into  fits. 

AUTHOR. 

Once  on  the  g^Wop,  I'll  not  break  my  pace : 
Give  ear,  ye  critics,  give ;  no  more  disgi*ace 
The  long  auricular  birthright  of  your  race, 
Whose  length  of  ear  is  more  than  all  Job's  asses' 
Divided  into  parallel,  twin  masses ; 
Give  charitably,  what  ye  largely  can, 
And  learn  some  duties  from  superior  man. 

FRIEND. 

Your  aim  would  seem — since  Aaron  broached  to  Moses 

His  inconvenient  scheme  concerning  noses, 

The  very  strangest  History  discloses  : 

We  can't  wear  critics'  ears  by  way  of  posies. 

According  to  the  Talmud — 

AUTHOR. 

Oh,  forbear ; 
I  give  it  up.     Their  ears  may  critics  wear 
As  long  as  monkeys'  tails,  for  aught  I  care. 


A   SATIRE.  145 

CKITIC. 

You  doubtless  tliink  the  metaplior  is  witty 

And  that  it  don't  apply's  the  only  pity. 

The  bards  of  every  country,  state,  and  city, 

Each  call  their  fancied  foes  such  in  choice  ditty. 

Most  men  have  lucid  intervals  of  reason 

But  bards  ;  they  will  sing  in  and  out  of  season, 

And  when  you  are  least  in  humour  still  will  tease  on. 

It  seems  their  favourite  fault ;  for  instance,  now 

You  want  with  critics  to  get  up  a  row. 

And  beard  the  guild  ;  but  that  I'll  not^llow ; 

I  hold  myself  their  guardian,  In  the  main ; 

Our  art,  the  last  refinement  of  the  brain 

Which  human  wit  from  all  its  stores  can  strain. 

AUTHOR. 

I  don't  feel  tied  to  one  especial  trope ; 

I  have  more  strings  to  my  bow  than  one,  I  hope ; — 

As  witness ; — shun,  pray,  wheresoe'er  ye  be, 

Dear  critics,  all  steep  places  by  the  sea. 

Lest  those  fine  faculties  which  so  befriend. 

And  so  possess  you,  lure  ye  to  your  end. 

Haunt,  haunt  in  peace  your  snug,  sonorous  styes, 

And  Bacon's  Essays  study  ere  you  rise. 

When  you've  been  salted  with  true  Attic  wit. 

Or  smoked,  as  to  the  public  seems  most  fit, 

10 


146  THE   AGE; 

The  world  Avail  add  you  to  its  learned  stores ; 
But,  till  then,  you  are  only  pig — my  bores. 

FRIEND. 

Critic,  you  have  the  knife,  but  not  by  th'  handle. 
Don't  try  to  poke  a  fire  out  with  a  candle. 

CRITIC. 

The  warning's  somewhat  tardy. 

FRIEND. 

Well ;  no  matter. 
Cool  wins  ;  keep  cool ;  so  that  your  teeth  don't  chatter. 


Enwreathe  your  brows  Avith  fadeless  flowers,  I  would, 

Of  speech,  and  trust  provocative  of  good : 

Like  cuttle-fish  ye  flounder  in  the  flood 

That  issues  from  your  pens,  of  inky  mud  ; 

Like  creeping  mites,  which,  writhing  into  light, 

Eclipses  feel  as  murderously  bright ; 

And  shrinking,  shriveling,  in  their  own  despite, 

Die,  just  by  visitation  of  the  light ; 

Mere  atomies,  whose  souls,  with  meanness  fraught, 

Must  soar  to  seize  a  caterpillar's  thought, — 

A  man's,  a  poet's,  sends  you  clean  tlistraught. 


A   SATIRE.  147 


CRITIC. 

You  and  your  tribe  will  form  a  numerous  clatch 
Some  day,  I  take  it,  about  Coluey  Hatch. 


I  often  fancy  critics  mostly  are 

Much  like  that  misanthrope  who  kept  a  bar, 

The  Dickens  knows  where — I  don't ;  wordy  war 

Waging,  for  ever  after,  in  the  Press, 

With  all  whose  merit  shocks  their  ill-success. 

CRITIC. 

You  have  said  so  much  to  put  me  on  my  mettle 

That  I  propose  now  to  "  peruse  and  settle." 

In  vain  along  these  leaves  I  cast  mine  eye 

To  find  one  piece  of  measured  poetry ; 

But  in  disorder  you  are  a  grand  adept : 

There's  scarce  an  instance  where  the  metre's  kept. 


Judge  as  your  nature  prompts,  your  art  prescribes, 
They  sting  not  me,  a  critic's  taunts  and  gibes  ; 
Forms,  numbers,  metres  let  him  scan  or  square  ; 
Thought,  truth,  invention,  passion  be  my  care. 
If  aught  of  truth  m  verse  of  mine  you  see. 
And  truth  may  moral  or  poetic  be, 


148  THE   AGE; 

Goodwill  nor  mends  nor  magnifies  its  state, 

Nor  can  ill,  lessen  nor  deteriorate. 

I  bow  to  judgment ;  but  have  done  my  best ; 

Nought  here  may  wake  a  blush,  nor  wound  a  breast, 

The  purest,  tenderest.     I  permit  the  i-est 

To  chance,  or  aught  that's  mutable  and  partial, 

The  press,  to  wit ;  and  critics'  fierce  court-martial. 


Such  drum-head  justice,  then,  as  you  deserve 
You'll  have ;  for  fear  nor  favour  shall  make  swerve 
The  balance  once  entrusted  to  my  hand. 

FKIEND. 

Good :  weights  and  forfeits  we  all  understand. 

CKITIC. 

Now,  look  ye ;  dare  you  call  this  stanza  verse, 

Writhing  in  wretched  prose  ?  what  can  be  worse  ? 

Virgil  says  Phoebus  tweaked  him  by  the  ear ; 

It's  well  for  you  there's  no  Apollo  near. 

Or  you'd  have  been  a  sign  to  all  beholders ; 

For  he'd  have  tweaked  your  head  clean  oiF  your  shoulders. 

AUTHOR. 

Go  on.     I'm  silent.     Your  critique,  be  sure, 
However  trenchant,  now,  'tis  my  turn,  I'll  endure. 

FRIKND. 

To  kill,  you'll  find  it  easier  than  to  cure. 


A  SATIRE.  149 

CEITIC. 

Friends  flatter  not,  nor  honest  foes.     Enough : — 

I  think  your  verses  sufferable  stuff, 

But  wanting  power,  polish,  point,  and  ease ; 

Few  will  they  profit ;  fewer  will  they  please. 

Their  harshness  too  arises,  I  suspect, 

As  much  from  g,ffectation  as  neglect. 

To  be  impressive  no  one  need  be  coarse  ; 

Think  not  uncouth  asperity  is  force. 

Think  not  unequal  numbers  nerve  convey. 

More  than  a  hobbling  gait  does  strength  display. 

Words  are  but  slaves.     Learn  order,  music  ;  then. 

These  papers  burned,  sometime  resume  your  pen. 

Let  accuracy,  grace,  o'er  all  prevail, 

Nor  e'er  in  strictest  formal  method  fail. 

The  highest  inspiration  Time  records 

Is  in  acrostichs  couched  and  lineal  words. 

Despise  the  senseless  jeer  of  "  artificial  " ; 

Art  be  your  end,  your  mean,  and  your  initial. 

The  art  most  perfect  is  most  perfect  nature : 

Each  works  by  strictest  rules  in  form  and  feature. 

And  both  by  laws  attain  their  loftiest  stature. 

For  song  is  like  the  dance  where  thought  and  word, 

True  partners,  each  the  other  hath  preferred ; 

Confessing,  in  their  wildest  whirl,  Ihose  laws 

Of  harmony  they  both  obey  and  cause ; 


150  THE  AGE; 

For  law  comes  after  Nature,  and  restrains, 
But  still  makes  music  in  her  golden  cliains. 

FRIEND. 

True ;  as  regards  the  Great  Omnific  Cause, 
Prior  to  all  creation  are  His  laws ; 
But  as  concerns  the  creature's  comprehension, 
Knowledge  of  fact  precedes  of  law  invention. 


Dancing  in  fetters ;  I  have  heard  before  of  it, 

And  now  that  it's  explained  I  wish  no  more  of  it ; 

For  nothing  so  confounds  all  cogitation 

As  an  inexplicable  explanation. 

Prefer  I  must  the  chainless  stream  which  flows 

Just  whence  Heaven  wills,  and  whither  Heaven  but  knows, 

Sloped  in  by  nature's  broad  green  banks  alone, 

Or  closed  by  threatening  cliffs  with  groves  o'ergrown, 

To  leagues  of  dull  canal,  kerb'd  uniform  with  stone. 

FRIEND. 

Granted ;  still,  good  we  may  from  each  produce : 
Use  hath  its  beauty,  beauty  hath  its  use. 

CRITIC. 

Take  for  your  model  Horace ;  perfect,  he. 

^LUTIIOR. 

Our  language  bars  approach ;  no  classics  we ; 


A   SATIRE.  151 

Our  taste  and  our  materials  sadly  worse, 
Not  less  in  architecture  than  in  verse. 

CRITIC. 

If  each  but  did  what  lay  within  his  power, 

Nor  strove  to  strain  a  leaf  into  a  flower. 

Nor  clipped  the  natural  foliage  of  his  style 

Into  a  funeral  urn  or  pagod  pile, 

Instead  of  cursed  conceits  we  should  have  thoughts. 

Units,  tens,  hundreds,  where  we  now  haye  noughts. 

The  ancients  wrote,  each,  up  to  his  own  powers, 

And  hence  their  styles  are  models  still  for  ours ; 

Let  us  adopt  their  plan,  and  we  shall  see 

It  is  nature  settles  classics,  and  not  we. 

AUTHOE. 

'Tis  thought  the  world  wants  more  than  melody  ; 
Truth  more  than  either ;  and,  to  say  the  sooth. 
The  veriest  bards  out  of  themselves  make  truth. 

FEIEND. 

That  cannot  be.     To  her,  eternal  youth 

And  infinite  entireness  both  pertain. 

"We,  star  by  star,  the  spangles  in  her  train 

May,  age  by  age,  discern  ;  but  skill  divine 

Once  and  for  ever  wrought  them  where  they  shine. 


152  THE  AGE; 

CRITIC. 

Phrases  there  are  which  own  no  kind  of  rules, 

Like  to  the  absolute  levity  of  the  schools, 

Which  Newton's  gravity  proved  so  many  fools ; 

Abstractions,  windmill  giants  of  the  brain, 

Air-grinders,  yielding  reasoners  nought  but  pain. 

Such  words  I  warn  you  of,  it  seems,  in  vain. 

I  grieve  to  think  the  poets  mainly  answerable 

For  more  than  all  the  wits  here  or  in  France  are  able 

To  o'erthrow  of  mind's  inane  impersonations. 

Which  sell  us  slaves  to  our  imaginations ; 

A  slavery  worse  than  on  the  worst  plantations ; 

And  truly  much  embellish  their  fine  fictions. 

But  plunge  us  in  a  sea  of  contradictions. 

The  hardest  thmg  on  earth  I  find  to  free 

A  man's  mind  of  some  fixed  nonentity 

There  grown  since  childhood,  till  it  comes  to  be 

Of  superannuated  infancy ; 

Some  mountainous  bubble,  which  one  serious  breath 

WhifFri  into  air  and  inessential  death. 

FUIEXD. 

We'll  skip  what  the  Angelic  Doctor  saith 
On  that  bead,  and  Duns  Scotus  answereth. 

CRITIC. 

Shall  every  ninny  who  can  thrum  on  rhyme. 
Break  all  our  ear-drums  without  tune  or  time  ? 


A  SATIRE.  153 


No ;  if  we  must  be  glutted,  he,  at  least, 
Is  bound  to  bring  us  music  to  bis  feast. 

ADTHOK. 

All  can  write  smoothly  who  can  mend  a  pen, 
The  art  of  ushers  and  their  little  men. 
To  write  mere  verses — never  mind  if  dull — 
Is  just  as  easy  as  one's  name  at  full. 
Beca,use  a  thinking  being  must  have  thoughts, 
Although,  hke  1,  behind  a  regiment  of  O's 
In  decimals,  they  may  but  show  how  near 
How  next  to  nothingness  the  things  appear; 
Or  Portuguese  accounts  in  countless  reals, — 
So  small  the  coin  they  almost  seem  ideals. 
For  verse  is  but  a  mould  wherein  we  pour 
Gold,  silver,  brass,  or  lead ;  alike  the  four 
It  keeps,  shapes,  beautifies  ;  alike  it  suits 
The  thunder-throated  giants  and  dwarf  mutes. 

CRITIC. 

But  truth  should  be  attractive. 

AUTHOR. 

So  it  should, 
Men  will  be  sued  and  wooed  ere  won  to  good. 
And  he  who  would  to  virtue  force  mankind, 
By  storming  truth  at  them,  may  hope  to  unbind 
The  streams  of  dark  ice  by  the  northern  wind. 


154  THE  AGE; 

Earth  only  yields  her  beauties  and  her  flowers 
To  suns  of  softening,  winds  of  loosening  powers. 

FRIEND. 

We  talk  of  truth  much  in  this  world  of  ours ; 

But,  speaking  in  a  mere  commercial  way, 

Truth's  is  the  only  business  that  don't  pay. 

Truth  took  a  partner.  Wisdom,  and  'tis  said 

Their  only  capital  was  in  their  head ; 

But,  that's  a  fiction ;  for  I  knew  them  well ; 

And  knew  them  both  worth  moi-e  than  tongue  could  tell. 

Compelled  to  get  a  few  goods  upon  credit, 

(You  don't  believe  that  ?     In  their  books  I  read  it,) 

Their  paper,  merchants  held,  was  not  negotiable, 

And  none  but  bankrupt  bankers  played  the  sociable. 

Their  house  they  stocked  with  good  old  fashioned  ware, 

Solid  and  sound  ;  you  need  not  di'ead  the  chair 

You  sat  in  would  break  down,  and  leave  you — there. 

Both  worked  so  hard,  and  watched,  that  when  to  bed 

One  went,  the  other  watched  and  worked  in  stead. 

Y'"et  grew  not  rich ;  their  stock  nor  more  nor  less  ; 

Failure  seemed  far  more  likely  than  success. 

The  world  was  satisfied  with  nought  they  had. 

And  called  their  goods  indifferent ;  worse  than  bad. 

Wisdom  had  some  firte  gold,  too  pure  to  .sell ; 

Tlie  world  preferred  bright  brass ; — brass  did  as  well ; 


A  SATIRE.  155 

Looked  much  the  same,  had  some  quite  useful  qualities  ; 

And,  after  all — -who  cares  about  realities  ? 

More  vulgar  metals  they  were  not  rich  in, 

But  had  some  virgin  silver ;  'twas  a  sin  ; 

The  public  only  looked  and  asked  for  tin. 

Beside,  the  hussy  !  not  unlike  a  scullion — 

How  should  she  dare  to  deal  in  genuine  bulhon  ? 

Jewels  in  stock  they  kept,  and  precious  gems, 

Most  suitable  for  monarchs'  diadems ; 

But  sovereigns  are  not  always  to  be  found, 

Who're  worth  their  twenty  shillings  in  the  pound. 

And  go  a  shopping  as  a  morning  round. 

Pearls  of  inestimable  worth,  and  rubies 

Glowing  like  love's  own  heart  ;  but  pearls,  the  boobies 

Sought  not,  but  oysters ;  so  the  neighbouring  fish-man, 

Wliile  they  starved,  throve ;  and  died  of  fat,  a  rich  man. 

A  gem  Truth  had,  one  pure  and  brilliant  stone. 

Would  not  bear  cutting,  must  be  worn  alone  ; 

There  was  some  mystery  in  it ;  that  was  known, 

(For  Truth  admitted  it  was  not  her  own,) 

Could  only  be  explained  to  whomsoever 

Became  the  purchaser ;  to  none  else,  never. 

The  gem  thus  greatly  talked  of,  many  thouglit 

Were  better  broken,  and  its  fragments  Avrouglit 

Into  such  shapes  as  foney  might  desire, 

Or  size,  as  men  of  petty  means  require. 


156  THE   AGE; 

The  price  demanded  seemed  so  very  high, 

That  companies  were  formed  who  strove  to  buy, 

But  after  the  first  offer  ceased  to  try : 

Truth  would  not  tell,  nor  Wisdom  act,  a  lie. 

So  they  refused ;  and  though  nor  food  nor  fire 

Was  in  their  house,  and  both  were  fit  to  expire, 

They  straightway  took  it  back  to  its  right  owner, 

As  on  it  they  could  neither  raise  a  loan  nor 

Sell  it  outright ;  thus  doing,  to  prevent 

All  risk  from  malice  or  from  accident ; 

What  happed  to  aught  beside  they'd  bear  content. 

Their  wind,  an  ill-one,  never  veered,  alas ! 

For  gems  the  world  would  only  tinted  glass  ; 

For  gold,  in  varied  grades  of  baseness,  brass : 

And  thus  the  impending  crisis  came  to  pass. 

One  morning  before  business,  they  agreed 

To  take  a  walk  ;  and,  feeling  they  had  need 

Of  breakfast,  though  their  meals  were  scant  indeed, 

Truth  bought  a  penny  loaf,  and  paid  the  baker 

In  gold.     "  This  time,"  he  said,  "  he'd  not  mistake  her. 

To  jump  the  counter,  seize  her  arm,  and  call 

"  Police,  Police !  "  as  loud  as  he  could  bawl. 

Took  but  an  instant ;  frightened  out  of  breath, 

Truth,  and  her  dear  friend,  both  as  white  as  death. 

Were,  the  next  moment,  pounced  upon  by  Constable 

Q  90 ;  who  pronounced  them  girls  from  Dunstable; 

Straw-bonnet  hands,  whose  habits  were  most  unstable  ; 


A  SATIRE.  157 

He  was  quite  sure,  no  better  than  they  should  be, 

And  he  had  often  warned  them  where  they  would  be, 

Some  fine  day.     All  remonstrances  unheeded, 

And  the  gold  coin  impounded,  they  proceeded 

From  station  to  police-court,  as  was  needed. 

The  coin  assayed — 'twas  curious — but  they  found 

Too  pure,  and  worth  more  than  the  current  pound. 

"  That  only  makes  the  roguery  woi'se,"  exclaims 

The  magistrate  (I  never  mention  names), 

"  What  business  have  these  women,  young  or  old, 

The  national  brass  to  adulterate  with  gold  ? 

How  many  they  have  ruined  can't  be  told  ; 

The  baker's  lucky  his  loaf  was  not  sold." 

The  case  was  finished  by  the  worthy  "  beak  " 

Remanding  the  twin  smashers  for  a  week, 

To  give  a  chance  for  some  good  friend  to  speak 

To  character.     None  came  :  so  they  departed 

For  six  weeks  at  the  wheel,  quite  brokenhearted, 

A  mob  assembling  to  behold  them  "  carted." 

Policeman  Q  was  publicly  rewarded  ; 

The  case  was  duly,  by  the  Press,  recorded  ; 

The  baker  bowed  to,  and  the  Court  applauded. 

Meantime  their  landlord  a  success  achieved 

Scarce  credible,  though  facts  may  be  believed. 

He  seized  for  rent ;  wrote,  after  due  concoction, 

A  list  of  their  effects  for  public  auction  ; 


158  THE  AGE; 

Tlien,  calling  in  a  cunning  lapidary, 

The  stock,  they  both  agreed,  was  clean  contrary 

To  common  honesty,  and  so  contrived 

That,  had  they  prospered,  none  could  have  survived 

Beside,  in  the  same  business.     So  they  treat 

The  whole  as  rubbish,  and  a  barefaced  cheat ; 

And  but  by  classing  all  as  counterfeit, 

Would  the  wise  public  any  purchase  make, 

But  glory  in  the  shame  of  their  mistake. 

Their  term  of  punishment  at  length  expired. 

The  pair  discharged,  their  hair  cropped  short,  retired 

To  live,  the  Lord  knows  how,  on  their  own  means, 

And  meditate  at  large  on  mundane  scenes. 

Perhaps  they  have  some  odd  jewels  in  their  pack, 

They  sell,  when  most  they  creature  comforts  lack 

Perhaps,  not  able  wholly  to  absent 

Themselves  from  work,  and  keep  their  self-content, 

They'll  not  begrudge,  at  times,  to  join  in  any 

Labour,  whereby  to  turn  an  honest  penny. 

To  please  the  few,  or  benefit  the  many ; 

Snuff  candles  at  a  strolling  players'  barn, 

Or  teach  fire  engines  their  own  hose  to  darn. 

By  these  means,  which  you'll  own.  both  wise  and  truthful, 

They  munch  a  crumb  apiece,  and  drink  a  toothful. 

The  above  story  you  perhaps  have  heard, 

If  not  as  I  have  told  it  word  for  word. 

But  the  main  facts  undoubtedly  occurred. 


A   SATIRE.  159 

It's  likely  to  be  true,  but  still,  I  dare  say. 
In  fact — Time's  rolling  stock  is  mostly  bearsay. 
And  augbt  that's  bad,  we  may  we  must  believe ; — 
A  thief  turn  honest  ?  nay,  a  saint  may  thieve. 

AUTHOR. 

How,  then,  mankind  amend  ? 


The  attempt  is  vain, 
Each  must  improve  himself,  or  all  remain 
E'en  as  they  are.     Nought  else  yields  good  so  ample, 
As  a  high  aim  successful ;  for  example 
Acts  upon  masses  with  despotic  force. 
And  spurs  on  numbers  to  essay  the  course. 
Who  else  were  mere  spectators,  and  attain 
What  strength  and  measured  skill  and  sacrifice  may  gain  ; 
Nor  is  to  any,  such  attempt  in  vain. 
For,  as  of  old,  through  Virtue's  temple,  they 
Must  pass,  who  would  to  Honour's  make  their  way, 
'Tis  in  the  struggle  the  chief  glory  lies ; 
To  strive  for  honour  is,  itself,  a  prize. 
Because  your  right  hand  mate  hath  missed  his  way, 
He's  not  for  that  lost  wholly,  and  for  aye  ; 
Walk  gently,  and  the  hope's  not  quite  in  vain, 
He  yet  may  march  in  Virtue's  van  again. 


160  THE  AGE; 

AUTHOR. 

What  is  the  wise  man's  influence  in  his  day  ? 
Is  it  the  few,  or  many  have  their  way ! 

CRITIC. 

Here,  to  majorities  the  sway  is  given : 
Rule,  if  you  will,  minorities,  in  heaven  ! 

FRIEND. 

The  world  is  automatic,  itself  rules  ; 

"Wise  men  are  sometimes  upmost,  sometimes,  fools  ; 

Those  sometimes  join  the  rest  in  foolish  laws  ; 

Corruption  of  the  best  these  always  cause : 

The  rule  is,  one  or  other  without  pause. 

Nations  have  been  accustomed  so  to  curse 

All  courts  and  kings,  as  bound  from  bad  to  worse, 

(When  popular  hopes  have  suffered  a  reverse, 

However  in  themselves  unjust  or  base,) 

I  fling  my  brief  up ; — ^kings  have  not  a  case. 

But  do  we  find  the  peoples  any  wiser 

Than  their  crowned  chief,  or  national  adviser  ? 

Are  they  less  deep  in  ignorance  and  deceit. 

Who  man  the  yards,  than  who  commands  the  fleet  ? 

Was  Nicholas  the  man  who  dreamed  alone, 

Of  Russians,  to  subvert  the  Moslem's  throne  ; 

Or  was  it  sixty  millions  dreamed  as  one  ? 


A  SATIRE.  161 

Was  George  the  Fifth  the  only  man  who  share 

Debenture,  coupon,  scrip,  of  solid  air 

Prized,  purchased  or  transferred  ;  and  bought  and  sold 

Aerial  railroads  to  the  realm  of  gold  ? 

Search  history  through,  and  you  will  mostly  find 

The  king's  the  measure  of  his  people's  mind. 

CRITIC. 

An  army  is  a  people  organized, 
A  senate  is  a  nation  symbolized, 
A  monarch  is  a  state  idealized. 

FRIEXD. 

Urge  not  in  vain  the  medium  state  more  blest. 

And  senates  more  of*  probity  possessed 

Than  mobs  or  monarchs.     Nothing  stands  the  test ; 

And  he  whose  aim  is  worst  succeeds  the  best. 

Shoot  low  enough,  you'll  something  hit,  be  sure  ; 

Your  men  of  vagrant  aim  I  can't  endure  ; 

Minds  so  refined  and  delicately  nice, — 

Reason's  to  them  an  intellectual  vice 

They  ne'er  contract,  or  'scape  from  in  a  trice — 

Whose  end  is  barrel-organs,  and  white  mice. 

_  CRITIC. 

If  excellence  consists  in  ill-success, 
As  some  travestied  logic  seems  to  express. 
There's  nought,  than  verse  like  this,  can  merit  less. 
11 


162  THE  AGE; 

Blank  verse  you  favour  not,  I  see  ;  with  you  'tis, 

Ignoring  all  its  high  and  reserved  beauties, 

To  scribble  lyrics,  one  of  life's  first  duties. 

How  rhyme  defrauds  a  man  of  his  intent. 

And  makes  him  go  the  way  he  never  meant ; 

As  poor  Von  Klam  befel,  whose  leg  of  cork, 

He  wanting  London,  dragged  him  off  to  York  ; 

Till  pleased  with  half  a  thought  they  grow,  in  time. 

Who  frequent  wheel  the  well-worn  ruts  of  rhyme. 

Stern  Mentor  to  himself  the  bard  must  be, 

And  friend  severe,  his  own  best  enemy  ; 

If  that  you  are  not,  why  then  attend  to  me. 

Now,  I  observe,  dipping  in  here  and  there, " 

An  incompleteness,  an  unfinished  air 

In  structure  and  design.     The  thought  should  rise 

In  every  step  or  stanza  you  devise, 

Until  the  mind  attains  the  loftiest  view 

Of  that  it  meditates  at  first  to  do. 

Look  every  thought  thrice  over,  through  and  through ; 

Let  every  phrase  be  in  itself  complete ; 

Be  firm  in  finish,  perfect  in  your  feet ; 

Give  the  fair  vowels  their  preponderance  meet. 

And  the  alliterate  sounds  their  repetition  sweet. 

But  ere  you  aught  let  pass,  take  heed  and  note 

Less  how  it  reads  right  on,  and  how  'twill  quote. 


A  SATIRE.  163 

Oh,  rather  draw  one  sunbeam  clear  of  thought, 

One  fine,  thin  radius — if  not  perfect,  nought — > 

Than,  like  a  raffibow  in  convulsions,  scatter 

Conceits  which  have  no  kin  in  mind  or  matter. 

Give  simple  themes  like  style.     The  village  may, 

Who  field  and  thicket  rambles — rude  as  they — 

For  wild  flowers,  which,  inwove,  are  round  her  thrown. 

Neck,  arms,  and  waist,  in  one  continuous  zone ; 

Alike  with  Empress  on  her  jewelled  throne. 

Please  each  in  proper  place,  please  there  alone. 

Pure  English  is,  in  songs  and  lyric  pieces, 

Exactly  proper,  and  their  charm  increases. 

But  grander  aims  insist  on  nobler  style ; 

For  wilful  beggary  is  always  vile ; 

And  to  use  nought  beside  the  Saxon  phrase  is 

To  poUsh  paving-stones  and  pot  dog-daisies. 

In  lyrics,  ballads,  and  in  general  rhymes 

Avoid  all  involution  ;  but,  at  times, 

A  just  inversion  gives  a  saying  strength, 

Adds  to  directness  force,  and  grace  to  length ; 

The  words  turn  back  and  look  you  in  the  face, 

Like  gold-winged  dragons,  somewhat  past  their  pace 

By  fair  Armida  urged,  with  haughtier  grace. 

Be  cleai",  be  simple,  be  to  Nature  true  ; 

She  hoards  her  beauty  and  her  wealth  for  you  : 


164  THE  AGE; 

And  while  whole  heaps  of  sterling  gold  lie  round, 
None  but  the  base  would  forge  ;  yet  such  are  found ; 
For  song  pure  gold  was,  first;  to  gilt  declined; 
And  now,  'tis  imitation  gilt  we  find. 


I  beg  you'll  write  intelligibly.     Try 
The  mental  measure  of  some  human  fly, 
"Which  buzzes  in  the  name  of  Critic  ;  then 
Seize  it,  and  cork  it  in  your  goose-quill  pen. 
As  Indians  do  their  gold-dust.     It  must  be 
From  its  minuteness  quite  an  oddity. 
Use  Avords  that  little  babies  all  may  know ; 
Di-vide  your  syl-la-bles  by  hy-phens,  so ; 
Study  those  glorious  works  of  Mrs.  Tnmmer's ; 
Consider  horn-books ;  meditate  on  Primers. 


I  thought  you  an  ally  of  mine  ;  but  fear 
You  are  inclined  to  play  the  traitor  here. 

FRIEND. 

The  fact  is,  I  enjoy  a  conversation 
Spiced  with  a  sprinkling  of  recrimination ; 
And  'tis  my  habit,  that,  in  any  case, 
Whichever  turns  to  fly,  I  join  the  chase. 


A  SATIRE.  165 


AUTHOR. 

As  the  poor  shell-fish  of  the  Indian  sea, 
Sick — seven  years  sick — of  its  fine  malady, 
The  pearl  (which  after  shall  enrich  the  breast 
Of  some  fair  princess  regal  in  the  West) 
Its  gem  elaborates  'neath  the  unrestful  main, 
In  worth  proportioned  to  its  parent  pain, 
Until,  in  roseate  lustre  perfect  grown, 
Fate  brings  it  forth,  as  worthy  of  a  throne  ; — 
So  must  the  poet,  martyr  of  his  art. 
Feed  on  neglect,  and  thrive  on  many  a  smart ; 
Death  only,  may  be,  gives  him  equal  right, 
And  nations  glory  in  his  royal  light. 


Fame  were  a  worthless  object  of  desire, 

If  fame  alone  be  that  whereto  aspire 

Your  heroes  of  the  harp,  and  lordlings  of  the  lyre. 

The  heroic  benefactor  of  his  age, 

The  judge,  the  legislator,  civil  sage, 

Alike  with  Kill-craft  on  his  cadent  stage. 

Scarce  more, — Fame's  ever  wagging  tongue  engage. 

AUTHOR. 

The  true  poetic  soul  doth  aye  incline 
In  love  to  all  things  lovely  and  divine  ; 
To  all,  fair  Nature !  that  we  greet  as  thine ; 


166  THE   AGE; 

Yea,  greet  like  children,  to  whose  clear  young  eyes, 
As  half  remembering  something  in  the  skies. 
Still  lovelier,  only  with  serene  surprise. 
All  things  are  full  of  poetry. 

CRITIC. 

I  doubt  it ; 
To  wit,  near  all  these  verses  are  without  it ; 
They  have  too  much  a  dull,  grave,  sombre  cast ; 
Not  light,  nor  piquant,  the  prevailing  taste  ; 
"Which  you  must  study,  yes,  you  must  indeed, 
Or  hope  not,  dream  not,  ever  to  succeed. 


Succeed  ?     Oh  no  !  but  to  himself  the  bard 
Will  sing,  though  none  reward  him,  nor  regard 
His  singing ;  though  a  publisher  would  rather 
See,  any  day,  a  dray-horse  in  a  lather, 
Than  Pegasus,  who  never  turns  a  hair 
(God  bless  him),  though  he's  here  and  everywhere. 
Fleeter  than  telegram ;  which  if  you  dispatch  it 
Eastward, — from  Exeter  suppose  to  Datchet, — 
Not  Time,  not  light,  not  horse-patrol  can  catch  it. 

Ik 

CRITIC. 

Bog  pardon,  but  I  heard  Professor  Faraday, 
Whose  scientific  knowledge  none  would  parody, 


A    SATIRE.  1G7 


Say  'twould  go  six  times  round  this  earthly  ball 
Ere  one  could  let  liis  foot,  uphfted,  fall ; 
A  fact  you  scarcely  can  conceive  at  all ; 
But  if  you  multiply  perpetual  motion 
By  infinite  space,  you'll  realize  the  notion. 
I  tried ;  and  was  surprised  it  came  so  pat ; 
There  was  no  sum  could  stop  me  after  that ; 
Long  furrowed  ciphers  which  o'er  acres  reach, 
And  logarithms,  figures  seemed  .of  speech. 


Just  that ;  you  can  prove  any  thing  by  figures  ; 
(I  hate  those  nasty  crooked  little  niggers.) 
A  man  here  shows  that  if  I  ne'er  had  sheared 
My  chin,  from  youth,  I  should  have  now  appeared 
"With  seven  and  twenty  foot,  at  least,  of  beard ; 
And  this  because  it  grows  a  line  a  day  ; 
All  which  immortal  fame  I've  rasped  away ; 
Lost  to  humanity  that  grand  example, 
And  treat  the  world  to  but  a  six-inch  sample. 

AUTnOR. 

Not  that  a  poet  should  spend  all  his  time 
In  making  rocks  re-bellow  with  his  rhyme ; 
In  mooning  o'er  the  modest  sunflower's  praises  ; 
In  strumming  streams,  or  blubbering  over  daisies  ; 


168  THE   AGE; 

But, — I  repeat  it, — bard,  where'er  he  be- 
In  heart  with  all  combined,  in  spirit  free, 
Will  find  himself  his  own  best  company. 


I'm  quite  of  that  opinion,  since  you've  said  it ; 
And  think  the  rare  discovery  does  you  credit. 

AUTHOR. 

And,  as  some  serpent,  who,  her  natural  soul 

llath  lost  to  man  for  music,  will  unrol 

Or  intertwine  her  body's  shining  rings, 

At  his  mere  will,  who  opes  and  seals  the  springs 

Of  life  within  her,  like  the  silver  keys 

Of  ivory  flute,  and  irritates  at  ease. 

Or  soothes,  but  charms  her  wheresoe'cr  he  please, 

Until,  translated  for  obedient  skill 

Into  his  breast,  she  nestles  and  is  still ; 

So  treats  the  bard  his  theme ;  and  calms  or  burns 

Till  whence  it  issued,  it,  at  last,  returns. 

And  he,  in  his  own  heart,  his  guerdon  earns. 

The  world  perchance  is  with  him  ;  perchance,  not 

Still,  for  none  other's  would  he  change  his  lot 

FRTENP. 

There's  many  a  curious  tale  told  of  a  serpent ; 
And  I  admire,  in  blankets,  him  or  her  pent ; 


A  SATIRE.  109 

But  then,  a  hooded  snake  who  pays  the  piper 
With  an  embrace,  oh  !  oh  !  the  treacherous  viper ; 
We'll  wish  you  more  luck  when  your  judgment's  riper. 
I  hate  snakes.     Those  on  bright  Medusa's  forehead 
Must  have  appeared  peculiarly  horrid ; 
I  know  that  Bryant  shows  their  mystic  meaning, 
But  he's,  to  my  taste,  much  too  fond  of  sci'eening 
The  heathen  fooleries,  and  reports,  as  his  doom 
The  whole  but  typified  celestial  wisdom. 
But  what  of  that  ?     A  cobra  di  capello 
All  must  pronounce  a  most  repulsive  fellow. 
In  fact  the  man  deserves  to  be  in  pond  ducked 
Who  justifies  a  single  serpent's  conduct ; 
And  only  juries,  ignorant  of  their  fanging 
Propensities,  would  spare  them  from  a  hanging. 

AUTHOR. 

Succeed  ?     Oh,  no !  my  Stoic  master's  text 
If  all  would  follow,  none  would  be  perplexed, 
None  be  discomfited  in  heart  or  act, 
If  with  desire  their  reason  would  comj^act ; 
Did  they  but  will  to  master  those  alone 
Which  make  by  use  a  dungeon  or  a  throne, 
The  passions  and  impulsions  of  the  soul. 
To  act  is  ours  ;  the  event's  beyond  control. 


170  THE  AGE; 

Mishaps  are  angels  oft  in  wanderer's  guise  ; 
And  ships  come  home  whose  sails  we  fiUed  with  sighs ; 
Our  fondest  hopes  full  oft  fate  dares  not  realize  ; 
And  closed  agamst  our  prayers  His  eai'  He  keeps, 
Whose  eye,  in  mercy,  "  slumbers  not,  nor  sleeps." 

CEITIC. 

You're  coming  to  that  point  the  Swedish  queen 

Push'd,  as  she  sat  two  Jesuit  monks  between, 

Who  tried — but  couldn't — to  convert  Christine. 

If  aU  things  here  be  ordered  for  the  best, — 

A  dogma  by  the  first  divines  expressed. 

And  by  all  Churches  held,  both  east  and  west, — 

Your  house  in  order  set,  your  mind  at  rest ; 

The  ultimate  difference,  it  must  be  confessed, 

'Tween  those  supposed  extremes  of  good  and  evil. 

So  nice  a  point — would  pose  the  very  devil. 

These  being — good  and  evU — on  the  whole, 

The  terminations,  as  'twere  either  pole, 

Of  the  same  central  force,  which  all  pervades, 

The  world  of  substance,  and  the  world  of  shades  ; 

For  good  may  active  now,  now  passive  be, 

But  evU  always  is  activity  : 

And  better  'twere,  it  seems,  we  evil  see, 

Than  good  alone,  without  its  agency. 


A  SATIRE.  171 

The  monks,  not  liking  this  encounter  keen, 
Conferred  one  moment,  then  implored  the  queen, 
Her  high  and  mighty  Majesty  Christine, — 
Protesting  that  these  views  they  saw  great  harm  in, — 
To  read  the  works  of  Cardinal  BeUarmine. 
Her  Majesty  did  nothing  of  the  sort, 
But  strode  her  steed,  and  clattered  out  of  court. 
The  conversation  thus  cut  somewhat  short. 
Left  by  themselves,  the  pair,  no  more  to  do, 
Monk  number  one  winked  at  monk  number  two. 
Says  one,  I  wonder  where  she  got  that  view ; 
Says  t'other,  blame  me — if  I  thought  she  knew. 

FKIEND. 

Come,  come  ;  on  ethics  I  am  rather  strong ; 
We'll  not  dispute  now  ;  but  'twould  not  take  long 
To  show  how  lamentably  she  was  wrong. 

AUTHOR. 

But  you  condemn  all  verse  of  solemn  vein 
As  canting,  tabernacular  in  strain. 
By  nature's  loveliest,  sublimest  law, 
All  high  creative  feeUng  ends  in  awe. 
The  higher  thus  our  human  reason  soars 
The  lowlier  still  it  humbles  and  adores  ; 
And  saint  and  seraph  nearest  to  the  throne. 
Bow  deeplier  down  than  we  beneath  the  sun. 


J72  THE   AGE; 

'Tis  poesie's  most  pure  and  proper  part 

To  consecrate  the  soul  and  cleanse  the  heart ; 

To  lead  man's  spirit  up  from  earth  to  heaven, 

Where  frailty  purified  is  sin  forgiven ; 

Where  at  God's  feet  Time  layeth  down  the  sun, 

And  reason,  worship,  poesie  are  one., 

CRITIC. 

I'd  not  advise  the  poet  to  invade 

The  pulpit,  nor  derange  the  sermon-trade. 

Go,  study  Nature  ;  wander  up  and  down 

Street,  court,  and  square  of  this  distracted  Town, 

Rival  of  kingdoms  in  its  population, 

Its  wealth  an  empire,  and  its  poor  a  nation  ; 

Where  silver,  gold,  gems,  treasures  deck  the  windows, 

And  wealth,  untempted,  worse  than  starving  sin  does  ; 

Where  toiling  thousands  barter  for  their  bread 

A  life  that  robs  all  future  fate  of  dread  ; 

Where  vice,  sin,  crime,  debt,  death — 

AUTHOR. 

Spare,  I  beseech ; 
Blame — scold — advise  !  but  do  not,  do  not  preach  ; 
Your  license  too  is  limited  to  teach. 

FRIEND. 

Crime's  an  offence  'gainst  man,  as  sin  'gainst  God, 
And  vice  the  medium  and  connecting  rod. 


A  SATIRE.  173 

AUTHOR. 

Misled  by  writers  in  whose  narrow  view 

All  high  is  false,  all  low  life  only  true ; 

Who  own  no  taste  as  sound,  nor  purpose  valid, 

But  what  concerns  the  vile,  or  paints  the  squahd ; — • 

Profoundest  scioUsts  who  proclaim  with  gravity, 

That  human  nature  simply  means  depravity  ; 

Who  tliink  the  apple  oflf  truth's  head  they  hit, 

When,  with  malicious  and  left-handed  wit, 

Father  and  brother,  husband,  son,  maid,  wife. 

And  mother,  all  estates  of  human  life, 

They  have  denounced,  each  one  for  other's  eye, 

Washing  the  face  with  white  hypocrisy : 

Who  versed  immensely  in  low  London  life 

Are  always  twiddling  their  dissecting  knife, 

And  hacking  social  sores  with  fetor  rife  ; 

Who  with  their  gi'oss  recitals  think  to  harrow 

Our  souls,  and  melt  us  to  the  very  marrow. 

With  words,  like  boulders  shot  out  of  a  barrow. 

So  graphic  and  mellifluous  seems  the  style 

Of  articles  contracted  for  "  per  mile  :  " 

Philosophers,  who  hold  all  evils  owing 

(Themselves  without  one  ray  then*  pathway  showing) 

To  what  they  keep  perpetually  "  don't  know  "  -ing  ; 

But,  granting  all  were  systemized  confusion, 

For  this  each  holds  his  httle  quack  solution  ; 


174  THE  AGE; 

Who,  deep  in  surfaces,  delight  to  show 

How  manfully  mid  shallows  they  can  go  ; 

Who,  sin  ignoring,  gloriously  conceive 

The  world's  vast  cure  were — notliing  to  believe  ; 

Such  earnest  lieges  to  their  empress  Reason, 

They  look  on  faith  as  logical  high  treason  ; 

But  urged  by  want  of  wit,  wliich  seems  immeasurable, 

Secrete,  by  process,  to  us,  aught  but  pleasurable, 

Out  of  their  souls,  a  torpid  admiration. 

Of  something  not  unlike  a  Possible  Negation  ; 

Conceived,  by  those  who  boast  its  comprehension. 

To  be  much  flattered  by  that  kind  attention 

From  cognate  minds,  whose  happiest  view  consists 

In  holding  God  and  man  both  pessimists  ; — 

You,  too,  with  the  Aristarchi  of  our  day. 

Wild  to  be  thought  judicious,  in  your  way  ; 

Critics,  whose  lucubrations  feast  our  eyes 

In  journals  of  the  most  portentous  size  ; 

Who,  ignorant  of  all  but  native  graces, 

Like  leopards  lick  and  paw  each  other's  faces 

For  love,  with  diabolical  grimaces ; 

Who  seek  to  gain  our  sympathies  in  chief 

For  heroes  whose  address  would  gall  a  thief ; 

Send  one  to  study  nature  in  blind  allies, 

(No  doubt  your  taste  with  your  instruction  tallies,) 


A  SATIRE.  175 

"  No  thorouglifarea,"  and  black  and  filthy  slums 
Where  Nature — bar  ill-nature — never  comes ; 
And  culs-de-sac  where — if  you  once  get  in — 
You  are  stifled  with  the  reek  of  i*ags  and  gin. 
This  is  not  Nature,  nor  dear  Nature's  sin  ; 
But  laws  unsocial,  wherein,  like  to  graves, 
Drop,  tribe  by  tribe,  the  poor  machine-made  slaves, 
Who  lose  all  root  in  Nature. 

FRIEND. 

True,  alas ! 
It  is  long  since  such  were  noted,  as  a  class, 
(Let  not  e'en  pity  love  of  truth  control) 
For  virtuous  peace  and  purity  of  soul. 
Or  wide  and  well-thought  views  to  guide  the  whole. 
I  speak  not  bitterly. 

AUTHOR. 

I  hope  not.     Sure  enough 
There  are  those  present  probably  quite  poor  enough. 

CRITIC. 

Who  are  the  rich,  who  poor,  one  can't  divine  ; 
The  difficulty  is  to  draw  the  line. 
A  mendicant  who  begs,  but  pays  his  way, 
From  alehouse  on  to  alehouse,  through  the  day. 
And  finds  he  has  still  enough  wherewith  to  settle 
For  his  night's  lodging,  is  a  man  of  metal. 


176  THE  AGE ; 

While  city  magnates,  whatsoe'er  their  pride, 

Whose  income  for  their  outlay  don't  provide, 

And  whose  affairs  are  shortly  after  set 

Forth — with  the  soul  of  wit — in  the  Gazette, 

Are  truly  paupers.     But,  while  poor  men  wealthy 

Would  oft  be  thought,  there  are  who,  rich  and  stealthy. 

Seek,  for  their  ease,  of  poverty  the  sign. 

A  man,  in  Wales,  an  artist  in  this  line. 

There  lived,  who  owned,  I  tlunk,  a  copper  mine 

And  good  estates,  from  which  he  yearly  drew 

Some  thousands ;  more  than,  I  am  told,  he  knew — 

Would  never  own  that  he  was  rich  ;  nay,  more. 

It  was  his  hobby  to  be  reckoned  poor. 

Once  at  a  concert — by  good  people  given 

To  help  some  bouncing  Magdalens  to  heaven, 

Via  the  Cape — to  play  the  violin, 

By  way  of  compensation  for  their  sin. 

Trombone,  bassoon,  or  some  such  instrument. 

He  was  invited,  charitably,  and  went. 

From  hands  and  feet  what  thumping  cheers  would  come 

To  greet  his  solo  on  the  kettle-drum ; 

And  ah  !  who  else  so  exquisitely  draws 

Such  feeling  strains  from  catgut — such  applause  ? 

Poor  pussies  !     Well,  yours  is  a  kindred  cause  ; 

For,  as  remarks  Linnaeus,  on  his  oath, 

'Tis  " misere  amant"  may  be  said  of  both. 


A  SATIRE.  177 

Still,  howe'er  bi-ilHant  the  performer's  feats, 

Success  nor  saint  nor  amateur  always  meets  ; 

The  outlay  much  exceeded  the  receipts. 

O'erwhelmed  with  grief,  our  Croesus  went  his  way. 

And  waiting  on  the  manager  next  day, 

Protested  he  most  anxious  felt  to  free 

The  enterprise — so  clearly  meant  to  be 

For  public  good — from  liabiUty. 

(The  unlucky  speculator's  hopes  revive, 

He  thinks  he  means  a  ten-pound  note,  or  five 

At  least.)     Under  these  circumstances,  he. 

Instead  of  the  accustomed  guinea  fee, 

"Wishing  to  show  how  liberal  he  could  be 

From  sympathy — though  times  were  hard  enough, 

And  money  now  was  valuable  stuff — 

Felt  justified,  and,  on  the  whole,  was  willing 

To  take  a  pound ; — he'd  sacrifice  the  shilling. 

FEIE^'D. 

The  tendency  of  time's  so-called  improvement, 
Is  to  contract  and  lower  the  mind's  movement ; 
To  make  the  poor  man  poorer,  and  more  like 
The  mere  machine  he  tends,  when  not "  on  strike." 
Mere  poverty  is  no  reproach  to  any; 
The  wise  man  may  be  poor,  the  rich  a  zany. 
The  wisest  I  have  known — but  one  or  two — 
Were  men  "  comparatively  well-to-do." 
12 


178  THE   AGE ; 

AUTHOB. 

Sometimes  the  poor  uneducated  mass, 

Who  know  the  wily  way  Ave  have  proceeded, 

And  the  coarse  pretexts  power  has  always  pleaded, 

Think  justlier  than  the  rich  or  middle  class : 

And  consequently  you  will  find  them  far 

Less  maniacal  on  the  Chinese  war, 

And  such  events,  than  other  classes  are.    • 

They  know  who  rule  ;  while  we,  who  as  a  nation 

A  smuggler  treat  to  ten  years'  transportation, 

With  contraband  consistency  enforce 

On  weaker  countries  that  illegal  course : 

Lay  waste  their  cities,  claim  and  capture  islands. 

And  then  complain  that  treaties,  by  their  vile  hands 

Attested,  are  not  kept  to  the  strict  letter. 

The  poor,  I  must  say,  in  these  things  know  better ; 

And  many  ignorant,  who  can  scarcely  read, 

Have  blushed  for  senates  who  approved  the  deed. 

FRIEND. 

Folks  once  were  wiser ;  now,  it  would  appear. 
Like  hares,  and  elephants,  "  and  such  small  deer," 
The  people  must  go  scranny  once  a-year  ; 
And  if  we  have  no  more  creditable  labour, 
We  always  can  insult  our  next-door  neighbour. 
&ome  NosMETiPSi  bully  of  the  press. 
Who  thinks  the  Foreign  OlFice  to  distress 


A   SATIRE.  179 

With  envy  at  his  better  information, 

Proceeds  at  large  to  stultify  the  nation 

By  stirring  up  an  ignorant  agitation 

On  things  the  public  really  nothing  know  of, 

But  whereupon  he  deems  he's  bound  to  show  off. 

Meantime,  we  once  had  news  from  Spain  or  Rome ; 

"  Our  specials,"  now,  think  as  they  think  at  home. 

These  scratch  the  wall,  as  in  Paul's  whispering  gallery ; 

Those  draw  their  inspiration  with  their  salary. 

So  much  for  public  business  in  the  papers  ; 

Enough  to  give  all  Donnybrook  the  vapours. 

CRITIC. 

This  theme  I,  too,  have  studied,  and  confess, 

The  more  I  understand,  I  like  it  less. 

In  France  the  power  abnormal  of  the  press 

Precludes  all  government,  or  did,  until 

'Twas  made  responsible  by  one  wise  will ; 

A  cure  quite  capable  of  being  used 

In  distant  nations  when  the  power's  abused.  • 

But  as  regards  the  two  contrasted  states 

Of  rich  and  poor,  within  our  island  gates, 

'Tis  sad  to  think,  what  most  ameliorates 

The  latter  most  unfits  for  that  position. 

Born  of  necessity,  a  world-condition. 


180  '1'^^^  '"^^^  ' 

AUTHOR. 

He  only  knows  the  sufiferings  of  the  poor 
Who  knows  the  sharp  temptations  they  endure. 
Mark  how  in  every  land  the  mighty  mass 
By  honest  labour  dignifies  its  class  ; — 
How  few  the  faults  that  deepen  into  crimes, 
Weighed  with  the  woes  and  pities  of  the  times. 
Could  any  statist  faithfully  portray 
The  wants  and  hardships  of  one  fleeting  day, 
And  note  the  triumph  that  sublimes  the  strife, 
Of  famished  virtue  with  the  needs  of  life ; 
Of  parents'  struggle  for  their  children's  bread  ; 
Of  children  for  their  household's  reverend  head ; 
The  poor  man's  honour  would  secure  esteem 
From  those  who  now  but  hold  it  as  a  theme 
For  artist's  fiction  and  enthusiast's  dream. 
But  they  who  deem  the  poor  they  represent 
As  harbouring  universal  discontent ; 
Who  drivelling  most  on  system,  as  it  seems, 
Right  learned  in  the  statute-law  of  dreams. 
Outbid  e'en  Socialists  in  senseless  schemes, 
And  libel  Chartists  in  their  mad  extremes  ; 
Who,  poverty  to  paint,  (taste's  now  so  nice,) 
Their  heroes  load  with  every  vulgar  vice, 
Alternating  with  logic  of  the  schools, 
All  limping  wits,  or  able-bodied  fools. 


A  SATIRE.  181 

Are  either  ignorant  of  what  trash  they  write, 
Or  clumsy,  flimsy,  shabby  shams  indite. 

FRIEND. 

Here's  a  strange  mess  for  some  of  us  to  think  on, 

As  quoth  "  the  Devil,"  when  he  "  looked  o'er  Lincoln." 

And  what  a  pleasant  scheme  you  would  invent, 

The  rich  consistent,  and  the  poor  content. 

But  in  our  day,  of  days  the  most  conventional. 

Though,  mumbling  o'er  Time's  annals,  you  should  mention  all. 

The  lower  you  the  scale  of  social  Hfe 

Descend,  the  more  'tis  with  deception  rife, 

"With  fulsome  cunning,  arrogance,  pretence, 

And  less  simplicity  and  common  sense 

Than  in  those  classes  cultured  and  refined. 

Where  nature  builds,  and  art  upholds  the  mind. 

AUTHOR. 

The  highest  point  of  perfectness  whereto 
Attain  can  njan,  is  Nature's  state  more  true 
Than  that  low  pitch  wherein  the  vile  we  view. 
Or  savages  their  powers  who  never  knew. 

FRIEND. 

At  best  we  but  develop,  not  create  ; 

Who  most  and  best  show  truliest  man's  estate. 


182  THE    AGE; 

All  knowledge  is  our  birthright ;  wealc  or  base 
They  who  refuse  the  freedom  of  theu'  race. 

AUTHOR. 

Nature  in  varied  perfectness  most  lies  ; 
Whose  mind  is  most  complete  is  least  unwise. 
He,  the  best  artist,  who  can  most  comprise 
Under  one  head,  with  personal  restriction. 

FRIEND. 

The  noblest  character  in  modem  fiction 

Is  in  "  My  Novel,"  past  all  contradiction ; 

The  princely  refugee,  I  mean,  named  Riccabocca, 

Who  must  e'en  please,  if  not "  dried  up,"  "  The  Knickerbocker.'* 

Talking  of  novels,  when  all's  done  and  said, 

We  do  our  worst  of  penance  through  the  head. 

Could  an  additional  labour  be  imposed 

On  him  who  so  industriously  closed 

The  list  required — whereby  is  haply  meant 

The  sun's  course  weekly  through  the  firmament — 

Why  Hercules  would  rather  be — with  reason — 

Hanged,  drawn,  and  quartered,  as  in  case  of  treason, 

Than  undertake  "  the  "  novels  of  the  season. 

Figure  that  hero,  with  his  arms  a-kimbo, 

Writhing  in  conscience,  from  the  dread  assurance 

That  he  had  earned,  by  bringing  back  from  Limbo 

Some  three  vol'd  monster,  base  beyond  endurance. 


A  SATIRE.  183 

The  everlasting  hatred  of  the  race, 

Whose  world  he  so  had  toiled  to  amend  and  grace  ; 

Pity  the  cruel  picture  would  efface. 

Nor  yet  do  nigger  novels  please — when  read  ; 

That  dismal  swamp  of  tales  I  view  with  di'ead. 

Whose  ever  lot  it  is  to  read  such  through, 

Is  worse  than  any  slave's  of  any  hue. 

True,  Uncle  Tom  had  merits,  of  their  kind, 

Contrasted  aptly,  and  with  grace  combined. 

EUza's  fearful  footway  o'er  the  ice 

Was  sketched  with  skill,  with 'touch  both  bold  and  nice. 

The  black  old  man,  and  fair-headed  little  maid 

Impressed  us  well,  when  side  by  side  arrayed ; 

But — when  old  Bogey  jingles  in  the  garret — 

It's  awful ;  like  "  Hail,  Mary,"  from  a  parrot. 


Let  ranting  blacks,  who  would  to  Canaan  race, 
Go !  for  them  Jericho's  the  very  place. 

AUTHOR. 

Not,  therefore,  in  depicting  knaves  nor  fools. 
Nor  sots,  nor  cheats,  nor  pettifoggers'  tools, 
Nor  rogues  convict,  in  our  imagination, 
The  very  ci'eam — turned  putrid — of  creation  ; 


184  THE   AGE; 

Nor  sickening  simpletons  whose  silly  souls 

Seem  just  about  a  match  for  squeaking  dolls, 

Granting  that  noble  piece  of  machination 

Blessed  for  a  moment  with  due  animation, 

True  power  of  mind  and  genius  shows ;  'tis  shown 

In  grand  and  high  ideals  ;  nor  that  alone, 

But  in  adorning  and  adapting  such 

To  veriest  life.     The  gift  grotesque  of  Dutch 

Limners,  who  painfully  will  paint  a  wall 

Rotting  with  age,  and  tottering  to  its  fall ; 

Minutely  marking  every  crumbling  brick, 

And  where  the  mortar's  thin,  and  where  it's  thick. 

Shows  false  art's  falsest  folly ;  and  that's  all. 

CKITIC. 

You  are  travelling  rather  out  of  the  record. 

AUTHOR. 

It  matters  not.     As  yet,  not  being  bored 

"With  any  "  name,"  I  can  (can  you  ?)  afford 

To  give  a  frank  opinion  upon  that  head, 

Nor  fear  the  frown  of  some  pretentious  Flat-head, 

Who  thinks,  because  he  sells  us  every  day. 

Some  forty  yards  of  letter-press,  his  way 

Of  gathering  gold-dust,  (as  the  Colchians  tried 

Who  stretched  their  fleece  across  the  popular  tide 

Of  stream  auriferous)  we  must  reverence  pay 


A  SATIEE.  X85 

To  his  conceits  ;  but  that's  not  in  tke  bill ; 
He  trades  his  ware  ;  I  reverence  where  I  will. 

CRITIC. 

And  these  are  your  opinions  ? 

AUTHOR. 

Yes,  I  own — 

CRITIC. 

Then  keep  them  to  yourself.     Don't  make  them  known  ; 
The  public  won't  indorse  them. 

AUTHOR. 

Well,  what  then  ? 
A  reasonable  minority  of  men 
Shall  like,  perhaps,  what  yet  is  in  my  pen, 
As  justly  as  the  h'terary  populace. 
While  dragged  through  all  the  slush  of  the  metropolis, 
May  laud  their  leaders.     Wisdom  comes  with  years, 
Although  not  these  the  cause  thereof  appears  j 
Or  wit,  to  age,  is  sadly  in  arrears. 


The  poet's  lot  methinks,  is  doubly  hard  ; 
At  best,  behold  a  poor,  and  pensioned  bard  ! 
At  worst ;  Oblivion  folds  him  'neath  her  wings. 
And  night  and  chaos  cheer  him,  as  he  sings. 


186  THE   AGE; 

^     AUTHOR. 

Wealth  is  a  relative  term,  and  means  far  less 

What  a  man  has,  than  what  he  would  possess. 

The  pleasures  that  the  wealthy  highliest  prize 

Are  oft  but  trifles  in  the  poor  man's  eyes  ; 

Nor  can  I  reckon  happiness  one-sided, 

But  pretty  equally  'twixt  all  divided. 

The  rich  man  knows  he  money  has  to  spend ; 

The  poor  man  is  his  match  ;  he's  none  to  lend. 

And  joys  there  are,  or  less  or  greater,  which 

Are  universal,  both  with  poor  and  rich. 

Hodge  grips  his  wage,  and  grins  with  as  much  glee, 

As  counsel,  when  he  banks  his  golden  fee. 


Oh,  the  sensation,  sweet  as  Yankee  honey-dew 
A  man  feels,  when  he's  pocketed  his  money  due  ! 


Mere  poverty  is  not  so  hard  to  bear ; 

In  various  shapes  and  shades  it's  everywhere. 

But  absolute  starvation  makes  philosophers 

Of  men  who  care  not  where  it  is  they  toss  affairs 

Of  others,  when  they  learn,  from  history's  course, 

The  value  of  the  ultimate  law  of  force. 

Why  should  not  they,  if  possible,  resume 

What  William  outlawed  by  his  book  of  Doom  ? 


A  SATIRE.  Ig7 

Were  such  a  revolution  justifiable, 
Wliy  not  another  equally  appliable  ? 
If  that  the  Norman  law  could  legalize, 
Why  not  the  English  law  this  authorize  ? 

FKIEND. 

I  did  not  think  you  such  a  frightful  Eadical. 

ADTHOB. 

Nor  am  I.     Those  are  views  that  very  ^ad  I  call, 

And  don't  maintain.     Bards  Hve  by  keeping  laws. 

Obeying  order,  and  high  Order's  cause ; 

Nor  should  one  ill  be  ever  made  pretence, 

Of  justifying  other  Hke  offence. 

But  who  can  tell,  when  once  a  theme  is  started, 

Its  course  ?  more  than  a  stag's  when  just  uncarted  ? 

The  convolutions  of  the  human  brain 

Match  with  the  labyrinth  'mid  the  Cretan  main ; 

Or  with  the  maze  at  Hampton,  where  one  sees 

Placed  in  the  middle,  two  tall  central  trees, 

Reminding  one  of  Adam  and  his  wife 

In  Eden ;  tree  of  knowledge,  tree  of  life. 

And  since  you  each  have  uttered  many  a,  parable, 

Before  you  seek  your  acres,  grass  or  arable, 

I'll  give  you  one — among  us  justly  shareable. 

A  rich  man,  and  a  poor  man,  once,  together 

Trudged  on  a  dusty  road,  through  sultry  weather : 


188  THE   AGE; 

The  rich  man  with  champagne  his  throat  regales  ; 

The  beggar  licks  his  lips,  and  thinks  of  ales ; 

The  rich  man  stops  at  a  hotel  to  dine, 

Dyspepsia  follows,  helped  by  ropy  wine, 

The  landlord  "  could  commend  as  very  fine ; " 

The  poor  man's  board  consists  of  bread  and  cheese, 

But  then  his  midday  breakfast  sits  at  ease ; 

And  at  a  roadside  spring,  beneath  some  trees, 

He  gulps  the  pure  stream  from  a  rusty  ladle. 

In  size  between  a  crow's  nest  and  a  cradle. 

The  weary  afternoon  creeps  on  apace, 

And  each  is  in  his  self-assorted  case. 

The  rich  man  never  nears  a  tavern  door 

But  takes  "  the  draught  and  lotion,  as  before ; " 

His  feet  grow  hot,  swell,  pain  liim  more  and  more : 

The  tramp  tramps  on ;  he  never  feels  footsore. 

Now  Gold-bag,  slightly  "  sprung,"  begins  to  chatter 

On  corn  and  funds  to  Wind-bag ;  asks  the  latter, 

"What  think  you  of  "  cash  payments  ?  "     "  It's  no  matter," 

Says  Fenceless,  "  what  I  think ;  I  see  so  little 

Of  money ;  and  am  aye  so  scant  of  victual, 

I  know  I'll  die  in  "Workhouse  or  the  'Spital." 

The  sun  sets.     Twilight  deepens  on  their  talk. 

They  scarce  can  see  each  other,  where  they  walk. 

Thieves !  Robbers !  shakes  the  rich  man  in  his  shoes  ; 

The  beggar  whistles ; — he  has  none  to  lose. 


A  SATIRE. 

FKIEND. 

These  are,  we  understand,  your  social  views, 
You  think  the  pauper's  lot,  with  sense  and  health, 
Better  than  vice  and  folly  decked  with  wealth. 

AUTHOR. 

Exceptional,  I  grant ;  but  not  by  stealth. 

Need  such  opinions,  that  I  know,  be  held  ; 

What  views  we  hold,  to  hold  we  feel  compelled, 

If  honest,  till  to  clearer  sight  anointed ; 

If  sharp,  till  "  their  successors  be  appointed." 

But  note,  whate'er  his  principles  or  plans, 

I  can't  say  I  think  much  of  any  man's 

Opinions  ;  not,  most  surely,  of  my  own ; 

The  best  are  mutable,  all  transient  known, 

Yours  may  be  mine,  mine  yours  before  we  have  done. 

If  one  man  knows  life  thoroughly,  and  can  show  it 

Up  to  the  light,  that  man  of  men's  the  poet. 


Pays  for  this  privilege,  I  hope  ? 

CRITIC. 

Past  doubt. 
Ten  million  men  toss ;  he's  the  odd  man  out. 
Newmarket,  "  Sudden  death ; "  all  else  we  scout. 


189 


190  'fHE  AGE; 

FRIEND. 

There's  nothing  rivets  great  and  wise  intents 
So  fii-mly  as  a  few  discouragements. 

AUTIIOK. 

Remember  me  to  that  select  society 

Whose  members  form  such  an  unique  variety— 

As  touching  their  opinions — of  the  race 

To  which  their  ignorant  ancestry  they  trace. 

CRITIC. 

We'd  introduce  you,  but  that  poets  ever, 
For  mixed  society,  are  far  too  clever. 

FRIEND. 

Stop ;  if  you  publish, — don't  now  be  absurd — 
But,  if  you  wish  for  welcome,  use  no  word 
For  which  Reviewers  will  have  cause  to  look 
Beyond  the  fifth  page  of  their  spelling  book, 
Where  halt  they  must  o'er  many  a  frightful  syllable, 
Their  sluggish  organs  to  pronounce  are  ill  able. 
Think  also  what  a  favourable  step  some 
Poets  might  take  by  "  ripping  out "  at  Epsom, 
Just  when  The  Derby's  over;  then's  your  time 
To  stun  Creation  with  some  racy  rhyme, 
Says  Rhadamanthus  of  the  leading  Journal, 
Whose  puny  judgeship  in  the  Courts  infernal 
Of  Criticism,  makes  poor  minstrels  mourn  all ; 


A  SATIRE.  191 

Such  being  the  ideal  audience  you, 
As  barb,  should  ever  keep  in  mental  view. 
Says  a  professor  sage,  whose  works, — weU-nigh 
All  margin  to  the  intellectual  eye, 
Illustrate  well  the  rule  he  scribbles  by, — 
"Write  nothing  that's  reflective ;  or  requires 
More  than  the  ballad-monger's  crowd  desires  ; 
Thought's  an  eccentric  act,  and  quickly  tires ; 
All  meaning  is,  to  song,  with  ruin  fraught ; 
Pure  poesie  consists  in  lack  of  thought ; 
Thought's  culpable,  it  risks  the  public  peace, 
And  may  commit  you  with  the  new  police. 
With  this  advice,  so  true,  and  well  worth  marking. 
Tour  crazy  craft  I  leave  you  to  embark  in ; 
I  scarce  should  be  surprised,  if,  while  you  flounder 
Just  half  seas  over,  we  should  watch  you  founder. 

AUTHOR. 

I  question  if  the  chambers  of  my  brain, 

Of  your  advice  one  quarter  would  retain, 

E'en  if  I  thought  to  store  it  as  aU  gain. 

My  blood  is  just  midway  'twixt  steam  and  ice ; 

And  if  nor  over  rough,  nor  over  nice, 

I'm  not  so  desperate  as  to  take  advice. 

FRIEKD. 

'Twere  base  to  take  advantage  unawares  ; 
But  prudence  for  contingencies  prepares ; 


192  THE  AGE; 

It's  only  wise  to  fit  one's  self  to  make 
A  step,  we  may  no  less  decline  to  take. 

AUTHOR. 

My  moral  instincts  tell  me  what  to  do, 

What  write,  what  read,  judge,  seek  for,  or  eschew. 

I've  learned  to  look  all  arguments  in  face, 

And  deem  their  value  in  each  special  case, 

By  principles  to  which  their  rise  they  trace. 

"With  neither  thought  nor  word  I  rest  content 

Until  I've  torn  off  all  integument ; 

Externals  only  satisfy  the  mind 

Feeble,  or  idle,  or  to  err  inclined. 

CRITIC. 

The  question  is,  "  Wliat's  not  external,"  here ; 

And,  how  it  is,  an  essence  can  appear  ? 

Essences  we  indeed  believe  to  be, 

Just  as  the  righteousness  of  saints  we  see, 

Fold  upon  fold  but  veils  their  sanctity. 

Has  Kant  or  Berkeley  lifted  up  the  curtain  ? 

"We  begin  with  postulates,  that  is  certain. 

FRIEND. 

I  can't  support  the  Berkleyans ;  with  them 
The  universe  is  just  a  theorem. 
Mass  there  is  none  in  all  the  orbs  of  Heaven, 
More  than  the  B.  C.  D.'s  in  Euclid  given. 


A   SATIRE.  193 


That  line  and  point  mark  in  a  diagram ; 
Tlie  external  world  is  aU  a  solemn  sham ; 
Matter's  a  mere  suggestion. 

CRITIC. 

So  it  seems ; 
Things  never  are  so  real  as  in  dreams : 
And  thus  we  fhid  the  cost  of  following  out 
The  endless  deviation  of  one  doubt. 


Locke's  '  nought  but  matter,'  Berkeley's  '  nought  but  mind ' 

Are  paths  whereon  the  Atheists  crowd,  we  find. 

The  one  reduces  to  a  mere  illusion 

Our  notion  of  God's  Being  ;  to  confusion 

The  other  brings  His  moral  government, 

Past,  or  to  come.     Time,  motion,  space,  extent, 

Are  things  God  makes  for  sake  of  argument. 

Here's  fiction  surely ;  worthier  who  could  name, 

Whereon  for  rollicking  balludist  to  declaim  ? 


I  grant  you  'tis  the  bard's  most  serious  aim, 
Fiction  and  truth  to  reconcile  with  fame. 
But  whatsoe'er  I  prove,  on  this  depend  : 
Ambition,  based  on  power,  achieves  its  end. 

13 


194  THE   AGE; 

The  man  of  true  ambition  lives  to  find 

A  throne  in  every  purpose  of  his  mind ; 

His  ends  may  be  obstructed,  but  he  sees 

A  crown,  and  crowns  himself,  in  each  he  compasses. 

Now,  revel  in  your  Bradshaw.     Trace  your  train 

From  town  to  country,  down  and  up  again : 

Since  railroads  were  invented,  all  must  own 

Life  has  more  "  ups  "  and  "  downs  "  than  ere  was  known. 

Mark  where  the  gross  ascetics  of  your  line 

Three  minutes  lend  to  lunch,  and  six  to  dine  ; 

Where  branch,  loop,  feeder  consummate  their  junction, 

Or  the  grand  trunk  pursues  its  lonely  function, 

Whereon,  by  virtue  of  perpetual  unction, 

Your  cometary  course  you  take,  resigned ; 

And  leave  progressing  stations  far  behind. 

Beside  the  railway  all  are  truly  sham  ways ; 

There's  nothmg  equals  traction  upon  tram-ways. 

CRITIC. 

Our  time  is  just  expiring,  and  you  know 

I  have  a  little  journey  I  must  go ; 

It's  only  fifty  miles  or  so,  by  rail, 

To  an  old  farm-house  in  a  calm  green  vale, 

Where  Medvvay  gropes  through  bowery  banks  and  steep, 

With,  here,  a  liop-yard ;  there,  a  fold  for  sheep  ; 

There  great  red  oxen  graze  themselves  asleep. 


A  SATIRE.  195 

Here  stands  the  church,  and  there  the  lordly  hall, 

And  there  the  shades  of  feudal  ruins  fall ; 

Here  corn-fields  yellowing  rustle  in  the  ear, 

There  orchards  mellowing  hint  of  merrier  cheer. 

I  know  a  pair  of  white  and  tiny  feet, 

Impatient,  pattering  round  the  lawn,  to  meet 

One  long  expected ;  jealous  of  the  hours, 

Ere,  like  a  fairy  fountain,  welling  flowers, 

She  flings  her  prattle  round  me.     Well  I  know 

The  rapture  I  caii  cause,  and  she  shall  show, 

Wlien  bounds  the  golden  ball  along  the  room. 

Light  as  the  woven  wind  of  Indian  loom ; 

Charmed  with  the  gilded  film  that  floats  in  air, 

She  half  expects  it  means  to  settle  there. 

Soon  shall  I  hear, — hear  twice,  hear  thrice — the  whole 

Legend  of  Gipsey,  and  her  frolic  foal ; 

Of  faithful  Dash,  and  how  he  lost  an  eye 

In  batthng  with  a  strange  dog,  vahantly  ; 

Of  Snow,  and  her  twin  kittens  ; — only  think  !— 

One  white  as  milk,  and  one  as  black  as  ink ; 

How,  too,  the  hunted  stag  rushed  through  the  farm, 

And  in  the  hen-house  saved  himself  from  harm. 

While  all  the  gallant  red-coats,  man  and  beast, 

Dear  Rosie  thought  the  army  of  the  East ; 

The  last  and  strangest  dream  she  ever  dreamed, 

And,  what  a  monstrous  star  that  meteor  seemed ; 


J96  THE   AGE;    A  SATIRE. 

But  psha  !  I'm  reckoning  now  the  tales  I've  heard, 
While  just  five  hundi-ed  fresh  things  have  occurred, — 
As  I  shall  find,  when  perched  upon  my  knee. 
She  opes  the  budget  of  her  news  with  glee. 
Therefore,  no  more.     She  waits.     And,  if  I've  time. 
These  wretched  verses  wriggling  into  rhyme — 
To  read,  I'U  scan  with  care ;  and,  on  return. 
Will  honestly  advise  you  ;  print,— or  burn. 


Well,  there's  no  help  for  it,  I  go — Good  day- 
To  play  at  work. 

FRIEND. 

And  we  to  work  at  play. 


An  easy  lot,  whichever  light  we  view  it  in  ; 
Nothing  to  do,  and  all  one's  life  to  do  it  in. 


THE   NEMESIS  OF  NATIONS. 

Deep  in  earth's  caverned  heart,  I  see  her  now — 

The  Nemesis  of  Nations.     Stern  she  sits 

Her  monumental  throne.     The  hush  of  death 

Spreads  round  her  like  a  halo.     She  is  girt 

With  silence,  as  a  girdle.     Even  Hope 

Might  deem  her  dead.     Yet  lives  she ;  live  she  will. 

She  hath  a  vital  secret  in  her  breast, 

As  though  she  nursed  a  god,  which  scarcely  breathes. 

The  freedom  of  the  future.     To  all  else 

Superior  in  that  secret,  nought  beside 

Heeds  she  ;  but  hears,  indifferent,  o'er  her  head 

The  ebb,  or  flow,  of  empire  ;  and  the  march 

Of  many  a  generation  ;  and  but  smiles, 

And  rocks  her  foot,  contemptuous.     Not  for  these 

Moves  she  ;  nor  is  she  moved ;  nor  doth  she  watch. 

Dumb  prophetess  of  woe  !  she  hath  not  been 

Incarcerate ;  nor  abandoned  ;  nor  beguiled  ; 

Nor,  of  the  good,  suspected ;  nor,  by  kings, 

Ever  forgot ; — if,  haply,  one  hath  eyed. 

Nor,  shuddering,  shrunk  before  that  stately  stare. 


198  THE  NEMESIS   OF  NATIONS. 

Her  pale  and  dominant  brow,  and  mounded  breast, 

Elate  with  life : — nay,  she  hath  never  been 

Save  by  her  own  serene  and  saci'cd  will 

Exiled  from  Earth's  face.     What,  then,  doth  she  there, 

Darkling,  in  central  solitudes  ?     Alas  ! 

Of  her  divine  pi'evision  all  devoid, 

Unworthy  suitors  hath  she,  many  an  one. 

Who  her  to  forfeiture  would  tempt,  nor  own 

God's  gracious  gift,  empowering  her  to  abide 

The  hour  of  destiny.     But  when  the  dew, 

Now  wet,  hath  ripened  to  the  thunder-cloud. 

And  man's  breath  to  God's  hghtning,  one  shall  come, 

And  ope  her  sealed  hand ; — take  out  the  spell 

And  put  in  it  a  spear ;  and  sanctify 

Her  forehead  with  a  crown  ;  and  wreathe  her  Ibins 

With  silver  serpents ;  and  so  lead  her  forth 

To  head  reviving  manhood.     Would  to  Heaven 

I,  too,  might  see  the  awakening  of  that  day, 

Day-dawn,  or  sun-down,  speed  it,  God  of  right ! 


WAR. 

So  heathen  against  heathen,  tribe  'gainst  tribe, 

Streamed  onward  in  embattled  waves  of  war ; 

Not  that  so  vast,  to  immemorial  age 

Sacred,  of  Scytbic  birth,  which  flood-like  surged 

Far  round  the  mount  Armenian  ;  nor  so  wide 

Which  once  the  crutched  hermit's  eyes  beheld, 

Uprist  in  bodily  answer  to  his  prayers, 

By  Danube's  bank,  whence  hardy  knighthood's  shield  ;- 

Nor  host  immixed  that  by  Propontic  wave 

Its  ranks  deployed,  by  nations,  to  salute 

The  golden-footed  dame,  who  sheathed  in  steel 

Her  lilied  breast,  and  couched  her  lance  for  love 

Of  Christ ;  and,  with  the  hope  of  wresting  back 

From  infidels,  His  hallowed  tomb,  led  on 

With  jewelled  rein,  and  morion  snowy  plumed, 

Her  maiden  chivalry,  and  glittering  queans. 

Luckless  ;  for  ah  !  their  virgin  valour  quailed. 

Ere  yet  the  manlier  might  of  stem  Islam 

Bounded  upon  the  spoil ;  nor,  till  unhorsed, 

Unhelmed,  knew  these  the  delicate  foe  they  proved. 


200  WAR. 

Flower  breath'd,  as  in  the  moon  of  blossoms  earth  ; — 
Nor  that,  by  gay  Chalons,  where  feU  the  force 
Moorish  beneath  the  Frankland  monarch's  mace, 
Which  Europe  saved  from  turban  and  Koraun ; — 
Nor  those  above  whose  heads  the  flaming  sword 
Two  handled,  and  two  edged  with  pest  and  fire, 
Of  militant  angel,  pierced  the  clouds  and  slew, 
At  one  stroke,  squadrons.     Thus,  for  many  an  age, 
Prevailed  the  universal  lust  of  death, 
And  vulgar  slaughter  ;  war,  of  all  bad  things 
Worst,  and  man's  crowning  crime,  save  when  for  faith, 
Or  freedom  waged,  but  when  for  greed  of  ground, 
And  mere  dominion,  cursed  of  man  and  God. 
And  people  against  people  rose,  and  wronged 
Each  one  the  other ;  robbed  of  land  or  life ; 
As  when  the  clans  Mogul,  which  late  had  left 
Their  maze  of  mountains  the  high  plains  that  bound 
Whence  Buzanghir,  and  all  his  valorous  brood, 
Heads  of  the  golden  horde,  and  sons  of  light, 
Whom  Alancova  to  her  sun-spouse  bare, 
At  treble  birth,  the  lords  of  throne  and  crown, 
Khaliph's,  or  king's,  or  Tzar's,  which  Zinghis  gained. 
Or  filial  Kublai,  with  all  suasive  sword — 
Bright  ravisher  of  souls — into  one  realm. 
Rounded,  and  died  ;  strict  Theists  they  who  held 
In  God  and  their  own  swords,  a  brief,  brave  creed, — 


WAR.  201 

O'er  Europe's  quaking  heart,  careered,  and  like 

Sunblast  on  greensward,  graved  their  fiery  name 

In  blazing  towns  and  harvests  blackening  ;  woke, 

With  tramp  terrific  of  their  horses'  hoofs, 

The  slumbering  nations ;  to  its  stony  foot 

Burned  Breslaw ;  and  at  Wollstadt  won  a  field 

Red  with  the  gore  of  Christian  chivalry, 

But  fled  from  their  own  conquest,  fled  aghast, 

And  perished  in  the  wilds  where  they  were  born  ; — 

And  when,  in  later  times,  and  distant  lands 

By  sumiess  crimes  indignant  made,  distraught. 

The  Azteks,  for  their  lord  and  woe-crowned  head, 

Stern  Moctezuma,  archer  of  the  heavens — 

Beset  by  bigots,  falsely  named  white  gods, 

Their  deeds  of  black  fiends  rather  savouring. 

But,  steel-clad  cowards,  strong  in  fulminant  arms, 

Instalments  thought  of  thunder  at  command. 

By  the  plume  mailed  barbarians,  gold  who  held 

The  sun's  bright  tearlets — sought  in  vain  to  buy 

Humanity  of  Christians,  infidel 

These  to  earth's  purest  creed ; — or  southwards,  where 

His  quadripartite  world  the  Ynga  ruled. 

Earth's  universal  passion  wasting  not 

On  king-faced  coin,  but  hallowing  every  mote 

To  beauty,  or  to  deity,  till  came 

Crowding,  the  guests  profane,  with  priest  and  cross, 


202  WAR. 

Who  slaughtering  thousands  of  his  flock,  and  him 
Incarcerating,  bade  pile  his  prison  walls 
"With  the  soul-soiling  dross  they  hungered  for, 
Ere  he  should  know  release,  his  sole  release 
Death.     The  Invader  vaunted  him  of  wrongs, 
And  gloried  in  the  havoc  of  his  hand. 
And  victor  after  victor  vexed  the  world  ; 
With  scythed  chariots  mowed  the  fields  of  blood 
Cities  of  wealth  and  states  despoiled  of  peace ; 
Red  rapine  reaped  the  land,  and  famine  fed  ; 
While  maid  and  mother,  eld  and  childhood  ate 
The  heart  of  grief  and  drank  the  tears  of  woe. 


A  FRAGMENT. 

And  Zetland  where,  betimes,  some  ruthless  wight 

Scaling  the  scaur,  in  sport  the  nests  despoils 

Of  auk  or  gull ;  they,  crowding  clamorous  round, 

Intruded  on,  insulted,  injured,  sore 

Besiege  his  ears,  until  with  querulous  wing, 

One  stern  and  ancient  fowl  assails  his  eyes  ; 

His  hold  gives  way  ;  he  topples  headlong  down, 

From  crag  to  crag  rebounding,  till  the  sea, 

For  many  a  ghastly  loan  responsible, 

Seals  up  the  expiring  secret ;  and,  avenged, 

God's  feathered  kind  scream  triumph  ;  him,  at  home. 

Or  dame,  or  mother,  by  her  drowsy  wheel. 

Expects ;  and  sharpens,  through  the  ominous  night. 

Her  ears,  to  catch  his  customary  step 

Whose  ghost  now  flaunts  the  breakers,  or,  far  oflT, 

Lamps  the  lone  wold.     Or,  where,  by  Jura's  isle. 

Fond  mermaid,  hybrid  of  the  earth  and  sea. 

Than  fair  haired  Yseult  vainer  of  her  locks. 

Erect  amid  the  waves,  on  caudal  curve 

Poises  her  form,  weed-girdled  ;  in  her  hand 


204  A  FRAGMENT. 

Her  shadow  glassed  ;  she,  rivals  knowing  none, 
Beckons  the  youth  belated  in  his  skiff, 
Far  out  of  hail  of  laud  ;  seductive,  lauds 
The  quiet  cave,  surpassing,  in  sweet  gloom, 
Earth's  superficial  glare  ;  her  bridal  home  ; 
The  charm  immortal  of  the  foamy  sea  ; 
Her  dower  of  pearl  and  amber  ;  wide  domain. 
And  every  joy  ;  oft,  over  shoulders  wliite 
Showering  her  shining  tresses,  which,  as  oft, 
The  lapping  waves  displace ;  but  he, — with  fear 
Half  dead,  though  scarce  incurious  of  the  deeps, 
Nor  to  adventure,  mostly,  disinclined, — 
Rows  faster,  lest  the  moon  set,  till  he  hears 
His  heart's  betrothed,  him  wailing  on  the  beach. 


THE  PASSING  BELL. 

Hark  !  'tis  the  passing  bell ; 
While  the  soul  is  on  its  way, 
While  it  waves  its  upward  wings, 
We  yet  may  pray. 

Pray  for -the  good  man's  soul ; 
He  is  leaving  earth  for  heaven  ; 
And  it  soothes  us  to  feel  that  the  best 
May  be  forgiven. 

Pray  for  the  sinful  soul ; 
It  fleeth  we  know  not  where  ; 
But  wherever  it  be,  let  us  hope ; 
For  God  is  there. 


206  THE  PASSING  BELL. 

Pray  for  the  rich  man's  soul ; 
Not  all  be  unjust,  nor  vain ; 
The  wise  he  consoled ;  and  he  saved 
The  poor  from  pain. 


Pray  for  the  poor  man's  soul ; 

The  death  of  this  life  of  ours, 

He  hath  shook  from  his  feet ;  he  is  one 

Of  the  Heavenly  powers. 

Pray  for  the  old  man's  soul ; 
He  hath  laboured  long ;  through  life 
It  was  battle,  or  march ;  he  hath  ceased, 
Serene,  from  strife. 

Pray  for  the  infant's  soul ; 
With  his  spirit's  crown  unsoiled, 
He  hath  won,  without  war,  a  realm ; 
Gained  all,  nor  toiled. 

Pray  for  the  struggling  soul ; 
The  mists  of  the  straits  of  death 
Clear  off;  in  some  star-bright  i:>lc 
It  anchoreth. 


THE  PASSING  BELL.  207 

Pray  for  the  soul  assured ; 
Though  it  wrought  in  a  gloomy  mine, 
Yet  the  gems  it  earned  were  its  own, 
That  soul  divine. 


Pray  for  the  simple  soul ; 
For  it  loved,  and  therein  was  wise, 
Though  itself  knew  not ;  but  with  tieaven 
Confused  the  skies. 


Pray  for  the  sage's  soul ; 
'Neath  his  welkin  wide  of  mind. 
Lay  the  central  thought  of  God, 
Though  undefined. 


Pray  for  the  high,  the  mean ; 
Souls  are  of  equal  birth  ; 
Let  thoughts  be  the  joy  of  the  world, 
And  end  of  earth. 


Pray  for  the  souls  of  all, 
To  God,  and  His  holy  Son, 
That,  filled  with  the  Spirit  Divine, 
AU  may  be  one. 


208  THE  PASSING   BELL. 

Hush !  for  the  bell  hath  ceased  ; 
And  the  spirit's  fate  is  sealed  ; 
To  the  angels  known ;  to  man 
Left  unrevealed. 


THE    END. 


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